


Part of your Symphony

by Hermaline75



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Orchestra, Christmas, Deaf Clint Barton, Exes, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-08-17 00:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 26,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16505435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermaline75/pseuds/Hermaline75
Summary: Renowned composer and conductor Loki Laufeyson does not want anything to do with the bloody Nutcracker Suite.Especially when it brings him into contact with someone from his past...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy December! Who wants a questionably paced festive fic?
> 
> The orchestra idea is one I've been playing around with for a while now, but like a retailer getting toward the end of the year, I've added some glitter and called it Christmassy.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it and happy holidays.

Loki tapped his fingers irritably against his desk, staring at the little cursor blinking on and off, mid-stave. This piece just wasn't working. Something wasn't right, it didn't have... flow.

He listened to it through again, the awkward jolt where he'd stopped. What was missing? Did it need more harmony? Or less? Was it too ornamental? Was there any such thing?

Maybe it was just hearing it on the artificial tones of the electronic orchestra. He still wasn't too fond of this new software. Yes, it was more intuitive to use, but the sound was all wrong. Maybe with the real thing, it would be better.

Of course that would involve showing it to someone and it was far from ready for that...

He removed a flute trill. Put it back in. His left hand ached a little, but that was just the cold. He lowered the volume on the brass. Brought it back up. Isolated the cellos to make sure he hadn't missed an accidental somewhere along the way and thrown the whole thing out.

Clint knocked on the wall behind him.

Ugh... He knew exactly what he was about to be nagged about.

He turned and shrugged a vague "what" gesture.

"I think you know," Clint signed.

Some people thought it very odd that Loki would have a deaf assistant. A composer whose assistant couldn't hear? It was unusual to say the least.

But it made a lot of sense to Loki. He hated headphones more than he hated the tinny sound of his computer speakers but most of all, he hated anyone hearing his unfinished compositions. Clint didn't have that issue, especially as he turned off his hearing aids most of the time for comfort.

And he was good at his job. He had a mind for details and dates and he was able to turn Loki's blunt replies into far more courteous emails. And thanks to an answer machine message informing potential callers that the person dealing with them was "aurally impaired" - Clint's sarcastic quote marks, not Loki's - he'd managed to cut down on inconvenient phone calls too.

Emails were just easier. You had time to work out what you wanted to say. And letters were even better.

Usually...

The letter had come a few days ago and despite Loki distinctly and clearly telling Clint to send the normal refusal template reply, for some reason he wasn't letting it go.

"I don't want to do it," Loki said clearly, exaggerating his lip movement. He was trying to learn signs, even a bit of Makaton, but it was slow going. They were easier to understand than to remember.

"Yes, you do," Clint replied.

It was still on his desk, in the in tray. On the top. Staring at him. Headed paper, edged in gold. Needlessly pretentious.

_Dear alumnus,_

_To celebrate the bicentenary of Asgard Conservatoire, you are cordially invited to take part in our celebratory holiday concert..._

It was a fundraiser, essentially. And Loki didn't do fundraisers.

And then there was what they wanted him to conduct...

"I hate the Nutcracker Suite."

"It's very popular. Ballet companies in the US can make 40% of their annual ticket sales on it alone."

That took a lot of working out and slow signing for Loki to understand, and not for much, he felt.

"Well, somebody's been on Wikipedia."

It was cruel to half turn away so Clint couldn't see his lips moving properly, but he was reaching forward anyway to pick up the letter and pointing at the one bit that had given Loki pause. The only reason he hadn't thrown it out immediately.

_You will, of course, be paid a modest fee for your time and talent._

Ah, yes. Money. It always came down to that, didn't it? And maybe this year had been a little... more fallow than usual. He could use a little injection of cash and the positive publicity.

Even if it meant stooping to the bloody Sugar Plum Fairy...

He sighed, flexing his hand a little, even though it didn't really help.

"Fine," he said. "If it will make you feel more financially secure, I'll do it. But I won't enjoy it."

Clint gave him a slightly smug smile and headed off, presumably to craft a suitably gracious response.

Loki turned back to his current piece and sighed.

Maybe, when you got down to it, it was just a little too grand for a butter advert.

***

Thor was amazed that the conservatoire even had an up-to-date address for him. Who had updated his record? He didn't remember doing that, but he might have done. Or had they been on his website? Did he even have a postal address on it?

Was his domain even still valid? He should really check that...

He was getting butter from his toast on the letter, spoiling the sheen a little. Breakfast. It was still breakfast in the afternoon if it was the first meal of the day, right?

It was just jetlag. He'd be back on UK time long before he got used to it being so cold. Winter always felt worse when he'd been in the southern hemisphere.

A holiday concert, huh? They meant Christmas. They were trying to be inclusive, but it would be mainly Christmas stuff, maybe an attempt at a Hanukkah piece. Same as usual.

But he supposed he might as well. Didn't have anything else on. And it was good to support the uni and get paid for his trouble.

All the same - featured percussionist for the Nutcracker Suite... That meant playing the celeste for the Sugar Plum Fairy. Wonderful piece, of course. But full of memories.

What a Christmas that had been... Before everything fell apart.

He'd played it hundreds of times since then, of course, but going back there to do it was a little bit different...

He made a coffee, the kettle steaming up the kitchen window, and tried to forget about his worries. It had been years. Loki wouldn't be there. He didn't play anymore.

Obviously.

Yeah.

And they would only have asked him because they wanted him. It was probably on his record that he'd done it previously and done it well.

Thor sighed to himself, downed his coffee and started crafting a positive response email on his phone before sitting down for a good practice session. Electric drum-kit - all the parts, no annoyed neighbours. Not quite as good as the real thing, but it kept him sharp.

It always did help clear his head.

And maybe playing the concert would help exorcise some of those old demons too.


	2. Chapter 2

Loki agonised over what to wear for his first day. There would undoubtedly be people there who knew of him, who'd heard of him. He wasn't going to show up not looking like a professional from head to toe. He wasn't going to wear jeans like all the rest of them seemed to.

He was Loki Laufeyson, conductor and BAFTA winning composer. Alright, fair enough, that was quite a few years ago now and he wasn't so much as getting nominated these days, but still.

Waistcoat? No waistcoat? No tie, that was for sure. He wanted to look professional, not Victorian. Black on black, of course. Chic. Classy.

Clint was not exactly helping when he arrived. Purple hoodie, fraying denim. Looked like a student. Still, he had the train tickets and the hotel bookings and the score all ready to be looked over and the laptop and the taxi on its way. Loki could overlook some appearance issues.

Speaking of which, the train staff were all wearing tinsel and elf hats - something about not being allowed to wear Christmas jumpers over their uniforms though why anybody in their right minds would want to, Loki wasn't sure. There was a sort of forced jolliness about everything that put him on edge immediately.

"Anything from the trolley, gentlemen? We have Santa and Mrs Claus gingerbread men or minty candy canes. Turkey and stuffing sandwich? Pork pie with cranberry sauce?"

"Two coffees, please," Loki said. "One black, one with milk and sugar."

Clint tapped the table once, ignoring the withering look Loki gave him.

"And a gingerbread Santa. Thank you."

The prices of these things were definitely going up. Still. He could treat his assistant from time to time, even if Clint was taking a picture of its wonky icing rather than actually eating it. Probably sending it to a friend. _The ice prince got me a present ^_^_

"You could always ask yourself, you know," Loki said when he was looking.

"I don't like strangers knowing," Clint signed subtly. "Too often they treat you like an idiot when they know."

Well, fair enough.

Loki got down to looking over the score. The main problem was that it was too well known, which made him want to try to put his own stamp on it, but it was also a beloved sequence. People wanted to hear it the same way they'd always heard it.

Right... Overture, March, Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, Russian Dance or Trepak, Arabian Dance, Chinese... Wow, you really forget about the stereotypes in these 19th century works sometimes.

Would they have a real celeste for Sugar Plum? Or were they going to have it played on the glockenspiel?

Technically the celeste (or celesta) was a percussion instrument, but most percussionists turned their nose up at it. Playing an instrument delicately with your fingers and not just hitting it with a hammer? They couldn't get their sweet little heads round it. Most orchestras got a pianist in to play the part. There was a keyboard, after all.

In fact, Loki had only known one percussionist who ever played it...

But that was a long time ago. Another life, really. And he was not thinking about that.

Well, he'd just have to find out how they were planning to do it. Audiences wouldn't know it wasn't quite Tchaikovsky's vision if it was played on a slightly different instrument after all. They just wanted to hear it.

He tried to sleep, regretting his coffee choice. They had limited rehearsal time after all. Some in the evening, then two working days, with the concert on Friday night. He'd need to be alert, sorting out any wrinkles, though if he was working with fellow professionals there shouldn't be many.

The students they were meant to mentor were going to be the liability, really. They'd either be hard-drinking slackers or over-keen teacher's pets, most likely.

The next thing he knew, Clint was shaking his shoulder. At least he'd managed to drift off a little, even if his neck was stiff now.

"Check in first?" he asked, getting a nodded response. "Alright. And is there a dinner or anything?"

Clint produced an itinerary, pointing out the Wednesday schedule. Introductions, rehearsal, tea break, more rehearsal...

"Orchestra dinner?" Loki scoffed. "God. You know what musicians are like. Anything for free food and more than that for free booze. I hope it's not a buffet..."

He wasn't exactly keen on the idea of eating with a bunch of strangers. Maybe he could sneak away.

At least the hotel provided wasn't bad. No frills. A horrible plastic Christmas tree in reception but the room had a bed and a kettle and a desk, a bathroom with a shower over a bath. That was all he needed.

He'd just hung up his performance outfit when Clint was knocking on the door. Time to go and face them.

The Conservatoire hadn't changed a bit, at least from the outside. It was 200 years old, he supposed. Bit late to be changing too drastically. All that Palladian architecture, pediments and carvings... They liked the period features. Made the whole place seem even more important and prestigious.

"Mr Laufeyson?" a young woman on reception asked. "Of course, come through. The orchestra's just setting up."

Yes, he could hear that. Laughter and chatter, tuning up. The usual.

He used to be among them. Years ago.

His escort swept into the room, clapping her hands with a confidence that told him she was definitely a singing student. Opera, probably.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she trilled. "I'm delighted to introduce to you all your conductor for this performance, alumnus and BAFTA winning composer, Loki Laufeyson."

There was polite applause, apart from in the percussion section where there was a clattering sound. Typical.

"It's alright," a voice called. "It's just the castanets. They're fine."

Loki felt his stomach drop. No. No, surely not.

No, he wasn't supposed to be here!

Thor stood up, swept his hair back, tying it into a rough bun, and smiled that sweet self-effacing smile, like he wasn't a consummate professional musician.

Loki hurried up to his podium, pretending he hadn't even noticed, willing some blood back into his cheeks, and tried to get his baton out of its box.

His hands were practically trembling.


	3. Chapter 3

Thor's own heart beat was throwing his rhythm off. Loki? Here? How?

Of course, Thor knew he was composing and conducting since he couldn't play anymore, but he'd never expected to see him back here or he'd never have come, definitely not to play _this_ of all things.

Oh, this was awful.

The other percussionists were looking at him a little strangely, possibly wondering if he was drunk. Wondering if they could nab the celeste solo for themselves probably.

Deep breaths. It's just another job. It was a long time ago and you're both grown-ups, both professional.

Loki looked well, at least. He looked really great. He'd grown his hair out. Overdressed as usual, but he could really carry it off. He was like a hot undertaker, with sheet music.

God, did he just mentally describe him as hot? That wasn't helpful.

"Alright," Loki was saying, opening the score. "I'm sure you've all played this before or at least glanced over it at home, so let's just tune up, go from the top and see where we end up."

Like the fur on some great angry cat, the whole orchestra in front of him sat up straight, raising instruments to their lips or under their chins, checking their tuning and looking to Loki for the first beats.

"Are you taking triangle for this?" one of the current students asked Thor.

"Uh... Yeah, sure, can do."

The life of a percussionist was mainly counting. Lots of waiting followed by bursts of playing and then more waiting. It was a very exposed role. The clarinets and second violins could get away with a few mistakes here and there, but hit a drum at the wrong time and everyone knew about it.

It was difficult to concentrate on bars and beats though. He was just staring at Loki. How was he? Sure, he'd heard when he won the big award for his TV work, but though he considered sending his congratulations, he just couldn't find the words. He ought to apologise, he knew that, try to bury what was still a surprisingly sharp hatchet, but maybe he'd missed his moment years ago.

Too personal. Wasn't exactly something you could send to a professional address where a secretary might read it.

And it was lucky he'd played this suite dozens of times or he'd have missed his cue completely. Some part of his brain was still engaged in his job it seemed.

Was Loki seeing someone? Was that any of his business? No. No, it wasn't. But then again, who was that guy he was with? The one sat at the back, typing on a laptop?

None of his business who it was...

Loki conducted like he was dancing, feeling the music, occasionally pointing out cues.

He didn't so much as glance at the percussion section.

They played through the overture and the march and Thor was moving towards the celeste when Loki waved a hand vaguely in his direction, still not looking up.

"We'll leave Sugar Plum for tomorrow, I think," he said. "Move on to the Trepak."

He might as well have punched Thor in the face but he tried not to show it as he took up the cymbals. Time was limited. Maybe that was even a compliment; Loki knew he knew what he was doing.

Or maybe it was because the piece had too many memories for both of them to deal with right now.

God, he'd practised it so much in that horrible mouldy little flat they shared. Tiny and cold. Or boiling, depending on the season.

Thor remembered that term so clearly. How offended he'd been by the suggestion that the conservatoire would get a pianist in to play the celeste part in the end of year concert, insisting that he could do it. It was just a glockenspiel in a box. It was just the same. Just without the sticks.

Taking the part home and playing it over and over and over again on Loki's cheap keyboard. Dreaming about it even. Getting his head around the rising bit in the middle. Playing chords of more than two notes at a time.

When he'd started learning at the start of the semester, Loki had been in the splint still and by the end of that concert...

Well, it was the end. Of all of it. He'd gone home to find all of Loki's things gone. A note saying this was goodbye. No apology. No "I'll miss you." No indication that their years together had meant anything.

And that's what had made Thor furious because that meant Loki hadn't even gone to the show. Hadn't been there to support him, to see him finally pull it off. Hadn't cared. Like it had somehow been his fault that...

Ugh. Two, three, four, crash...

A long time ago. They'd both been young and stupid and stubborn. And Loki had been having a crisis and he didn't know how to help with that and...

Well, they'd been doomed really. But they'd bounced back, hadn't they? They both had careers in music. They made enough to eat. That was all you could really ask for, especially in this climate.

He sleepwalked his way through the first half of the pieces, at which point Loki announced the tea break and practically fled out of the room. His young man watched him go with a frown and then followed him.

It was ridiculous that Thor felt the urge to follow too. And do what? Ask how he was?

There was no point.

He definitely wasn't going to go sticking his nose in where it clearly wasn't wanted.


	4. Chapter 4

Loki tried his best not to run to the bathroom, forcing himself to just walk quickly. Normally. Oh, he felt sick. It had never even crossed his mind that Thor might be here.

Oh, God...

They'd done this part of the building up. New taps, those automatic sensor types, stainless steel sinks, nice deep blue tiles. Not the old brown ones he remembered so well.

He splashed some water on his face and stared down into the sink, breathing hard.

"Hey," Clint said behind him, clearly aware of how serious this was if he was speaking. He normally avoided it, even with Loki. Something about childhood speech therapy having been deeply unpleasant.

Loki sighed heavily and grabbed a paper towel. Hopefully it wouldn't scratch his face up. And he didn't know the sign, just the letter.

"X."

Clint understood immediately, making a sympathetic face. Although of course he couldn't possibly know everything that had happened, how Thor was indelibly wrapped up in Loki's memories of the worst part of his life.

Of course, hindsight was a fine thing and he knew now that Thor had basically been the only thing keeping him alive for most of it. But still, Loki had been jealous and he'd been spiteful and he'd thrown that care back in his face as not good enough...

Well, it hadn't been good enough. But nothing would have been good enough and it had been unfair to expect the impossible.

Hindsight.

"I... need to leave," he said.

Clint scoffed.

"Bit late," he signed. "Not very professional."

Yeah, maybe. And now he was signing something complex and Loki could only frown as he tried to understand.

"What?"

Slower. Mouthing clearly. Something about getting rid of skeletons, wiping the slate clean.

Loki wasn't entirely sure that was possible. He'd pretty much broken the slate, for one thing.

"Were you in love?" Clint asked.

Were they?

"Yes," Loki said. "Very much so. Madly. Him and me against the world. We were artists, in touch with the pure spirit of music and all that bullshit. But sooner or later, real life comes barging through the door and I was a mess and he wasn't and I was so _angry_ that he wasn't a mess with me, that he was getting up and carrying on while I was falling apart and, of course, I only realised later that that was how he was coping, clinging to normality just to keep going and..."

There was a knock at the door, startling him, followed by a woman's voice.

"Mr Laufeyson, sir? I'd like to talk to you about the flute part in the Chinese Dance."

Right. Professional. That was what he was. That was important to his pride if nothing else. He could do this. It was only a couple of days and most of that would be taken up with work and then he could go away and get on with his life and compose his music and never think about Thor ever again.

Was Thor with anyone these days? The thought sprang to his mind unbidden. It had been years. He might be. He could be married, for all Loki knew. He might have kids.

Hopefully he was happy, at least. Loki wasn't sure what he felt for Thor now, but at least he could wish him that.

Opening the door, he forced a bright smile. He'd been this young lady once, exactly like her. Different instrument, of course, but just the same. Talented and skilled and keen. Desperate to draw attention to his own brilliance. He would be kind, or try to be.

And it was a welcome distraction, if he was honest.

"Which part are you having trouble with?"

Her freckled cheeks fell a little.

"No, no," she said. "I'm not having trouble. I just have an idea I'd like to run by you. How much do you know about the flute?"

They fell into step heading back towards the concert hall.

"Enough to write music for them."

"Have you played it?"

"No. Violin was my main instrument before I became a composer."

She didn't quite manage to keep her distaste from showing. There was often some antagonism between the two instruments. Battle for supremacy of pitch probably.

"Well, it's the trill. I was thinking instead of the usual that I could..."

"No," Loki said, seeing a familiar blond head at the end of the corridor. "Please play the piece as written. Tchaikovsky knew what he was doing."

"Could I extend it slightly?"

"No, I fear you'd throw off the percussion. They are simple beasts after all."

She laughed just a little too much, clearly hoping to gain his favour.

"I'm sure you'll perform it excellently," he said. "Excuse me."

He wasn't going to let Thor get the first word, striding purposefully towards him. Though when they were a couple of feet apart, he suddenly didn't know what to say. What were you supposed to say?

Thor strode past him without any apparent recognition, heading for the men's.

Right. Well.

Perhaps that was fair.

Loki tried to pretend he hadn't been about to stop walking and kept moving, going back to his podium and fishing a pencil out of his coat pocket. He started to make some notes on what he'd observed so far. Professionally. This was what conductors did, right? And he knew that because he was a professional conductor.

Needs more bassoon. Less clarinet. The strings need to be less muddy.

But mainly it was good. Everyone knew what they were doing. It was mainly just minor tweaks he wanted here and there.

Then again, they hadn't done the Waltz of the Flowers yet. Maybe the harpist was terrible.

In laughing and chatting little groups, the musicians returned, sitting down, tuning up again. It was cold in here. The metal in their strings and valves was probably contracting without the warmth of their hands and breath.

"Right," Loki said, unable to look up just yet in case Thor was staring at him. "Arabian Dance. Remember that the volume directed is an instruction, not a suggestion, please, cellos."

He already knew he wouldn't be going to the orchestral dinner.

He needed some time alone.


	5. Chapter 5

Thor was not going to dinner with a bunch of strangers. He needed some time alone.

Had he really seen Loki's face crumple a little when they passed in the corridor? Well, what had he honestly expected? He was the one who walked out and cut contact. He was the one who decided to give up.

Thor didn't owe him anything.

It was easy to think that. Harder to believe it. Yes, things had ended badly and he'd been very unhappy for a long time and maybe he'd even hated Loki for a while, but that anger had faded over time.

Surely he could at least be civil.

Still, the wound was strangely fresh. Seeing Loki had brought it all rushing back. The way he'd gone from the triumph of his big performance to the heartbreak of coming home to find his boyfriend gone with barely a word. It had hurt. It had stung for a long, long time and maybe it still did.

But he could still be civil. He should be civil because they were proper adults now. It had been a long time ago.

He played to the best of his ability and then snuck away, telling his fellow musicians that he'd had a long journey and needed to get some sleep, pulling on his hat and gloves for the walk to the hotel. At least it wasn't too far away.

As a kid, he'd loved Christmas. He seemed to be getting less festive every year, though. He appreciated the lights and the general aesthetic, but he seldom got the joy and excitement anymore. It wasn't a long waited-on and anticipated event, more like a marathon of work and concerts and the day itself usually slipped by with him barely noticing.

The tinny strains of Slade were playing in the hotel reception, clearly for the 500th time today if the staff's brittle smiles were anything to go by. He had nothing but sympathy for anyone who had to work in these environments.

"Is there room service here?" he asked. "I can go get something if there isn't."

"We have our special holiday menu available, sir."

The receptionist passed him a folded piece of laminated card and he was just opening it and perusing the choices when the door behind him opened with a blast of icy air and a familiar figure.

Oh, Thor's heart ached to see Loki's shock, curls of black hair tucked beneath his scarf. He never wore a hat, hated them, even though it meant he was always freezing.

Of course they'd be staying in the same place. There'd be a block booking for all the alumni.

Thor tried to take a deep breath.

"Hi," he managed. "Uh... Been a long time."

Loki's young man was staring at him, then glanced at Loki and handed him a plastic bag. Take-out food. He was leaving them in peace.

Oh, God, did he know? How much did he know?

Loki folded his arms, the bag held limply in a leather-gloved hand. His left, Thor couldn't help noting. That was... good, he supposed. Probably.

"I didn't know you'd be here," Loki said, eyes trained on a spot a little to Thor's right.

"Would you have come if you did?"

"Probably not."

Thor nodded vaguely.

"Yeah, me neither. But here we are, I suppose."

"Mm."

Silence stretched out between them horribly. For years, Thor had imagined what he would say to Loki if they met again. Everything from making sure he knew exactly how much he'd hurt him to apologies about how he was sorry he hadn't been able to support him the way he'd needed to be supported, how he hadn't known how.

And now here he was and Thor's mouth had gone completely dry.

"I'll see you in the morning, I suppose," Loki said, heading for the stairs.

"Yeah," Thor said. "Bright and early."

He ordered the mini-Christmas dinner but with extra pigs in blankets instead of a pudding. It wouldn't be the same without setting it on fire and he didn't much fancy risking the smoke alarm even if he had a lighter or something.

His room seemed too quiet after the buzz of rehearsals and he found himself putting the TV on just for noise. And then he did some press-ups and squats before dinner. Anything to distract himself so that he didn't have to think.

What could he have said? Should he have apologised? Did Loki even want that? It was so long ago now. He'd probably moved on.

He was looking well, though. So different to when he'd been gaunt and sickly and refusing to get out of bed because what was the point anymore? So that was good. He was successful and healthy. And happy, probably.

Hopefully.

Thor had had worse meals in his time, even if the gravy was a bit watery. He was a little tempted to order a bottle of wine, but it was expensive for what it was. Too expensive.

Besides, he was going to have to stand there tomorrow and play a complex piece conducted by his biggest ex, his biggest regret, so any potential impairment was probably a bad idea.

He had to pretend it was just another job. He had to forget about all those mornings humming the damn thing while making Loki coffee, he had to forget practising the hand positions for the chords in the hospital waiting room, he had to forget the shouting and the accusations that usually ended with Loki storming out for a few hours and him sitting at the keyboard and playing and playing and playing it until he calmed down.

Just another job, like dozens of other times.

He practised against the desk a few times while a made-for-TV Christmas film played. It wasn't terribly good. One of those ones where Santa Claus exists but the parents didn't believe. Where did they think the presents came from? Didn't make any sense.

Then again, in the real world, the man he loved had been robbed of his passion and he'd been unable to convince him to stay even though deep down he knew that a hefty chunk of his heart was still Loki's, irrevocably, all these years later, so maybe he wasn't one to talk about making sense.

He fell asleep early.

There didn't seem much else he could do.


	6. Chapter 6

Loki's wrist was aching again. It did in winter, more than usual. Which meant that despite his best efforts he thought about that time and, though he might deny it, he thought about Thor too. It was difficult not to. It was etched on his skin, after all.

Clint left him in peace, to his relief. That had been... unpleasant. Thor was clearly trying to play nice. Or maybe not having to try. Maybe he'd moved on where Loki had so many regrets...

Regrets for how he'd treated Thor. How it had ended. All the time he'd wasted feeling sorry for himself.

Well, the last one hadn't exactly been his fault, as his therapist had told him time and again. But it hadn't been Thor's fault either. These things happened sometimes.

He ate his dim sum - far better than whatever dry poultry the hotel was serving probably - and then discovered that his shampoo had leaked all over his pyjamas and the rest of his clothes. Only his concert outfit in its suit bag was unscathed. Right. Typical.

An attempted rinse in the shower sort of worked, but it was all going to be soaked still in the morning. He couldn't wear any of it.

Right. His trousers from today would be fine and the rest would likely dry by Friday. Where could he buy a shirt and some underwear either tonight or early tomorrow? And cheaply too...

Well, what was the point of having an assistant if you weren't assisted? He sent Clint a text, apologising for the early start but explaining that he'd had a wardrobe emergency and requesting he nip to the nearest clothes shop and pick up the cheapest garments he could first thing in the morning.

And then he tried to sleep. Not to much avail though. He kept trying to figure out what he was going to say to Thor tomorrow when they ended up rehearsing Sugar Plum together.

Should he bring up the past at all? Maybe Thor didn't want to think about it. A bad time, for both of them. No sense in churning it all up, like dredging some horrible pond.

Maybe he could apologise at least, but that left a bad taste in his mouth. It felt too late. Too much but also not nearly enough. He knew he'd caused Thor unforgivable pain, so what was the point in apologising? He didn't exactly deserve forgiveness.

He did his breathing exercises and his compartmentalisation and his relaxation techniques and finally managed to fall asleep.

But not before thinking over and mourning the good times. Practising in fingerless gloves, keeping as warm as he could and grateful that he had a fellow musician for a flatmate who understood the importance of practice and didn't mind the noise.

Remembering how Thor had shyly suggested that they could make the smaller bedroom into the music room if they didn't mind sharing a bed and Loki, though he'd been denying his own wants with regards to Thor religiously, had agreed even though he knew that meant eventually they'd sleep together rather than just _sleeping together_.

How it had somehow worked out and turned into something different. Not friends with benefits but actual boyfriends. For years. Still the longest relationship Loki had ever had.

And then...

Breathe in for three, out for six. Focus on the sensation of air entering your nose and windpipe and lungs. Consciously relax your muscles one by one, from the toes upwards.

At least he managed to sleep before getting to the part where it all went to hell. Not just with Thor, but with everything. It had taken him a long time to crawl out of the ditch and get where he was now. One run-in with an ex wasn't going to ruin that.

He woke exactly seven minutes before his alarm, actually did his physiotherapy exercises for once, and took a shower. Shame this hotel wasn't fancy enough to have bathrobes. He ended up sitting with a towel around his waist waiting on Clint to bring him clothes, sipping coffee and fussing over his hair.

By the time he finally got a knock on the door, they were in danger of being late.

Flinging it open though turned out to be a bad idea.

"Oh," a voice said, because that was Thor stepping out of the room opposite, heading down for breakfast, staring at Loki's bare chest and stammering apologies, practically running down the corridor.

Of course he'd be there. Of course. The universe wanted to kick him in the shins and it was doing a great job of it.

God, he'd been only two walls away all night...

Clint held out a tote bag, looking very put upon, not even reacting when Loki snatched it from him.

"Thanks," he said tersely, desperate to close the door and stop blushing. Get dressed like it was armour. Cover himself up.

Right. Five-pack of black boxers, three-pack of black wool socks. Good. Exactly what he would have chosen.

And...

What the hell?

Oh, he was going to murder Clint one of these days...


	7. Chapter 7

Thor had had plans to avail himself of the complimentary continental breakfast buffet, but he couldn't deny being a little stunned. He didn't even register what he was picking up, but somehow he ended up at a little table with toast and pastries, some fruit. The toast had little holly leaf patterns grilled into it.

His brain was decidedly elsewhere though.

Loki was staying in the room opposite and he didn't seem to be sharing.

They were so close to each other. What kind of horrible coincidence was that?

Coffee. He needed coffee. And to get the image of Loki's bare skin out of his mind's eye.

He'd looked so well. Lean muscle there, a little extra flesh, not hollow and ill like the last time Thor saw him naked.

Which he was absolutely not thinking about at all.

In fact, he'd stumbled upon a private moment and he felt faintly dirty for it. Just a mistake, but still. He wasn't allowed to see him like that anymore. Then again, Loki probably didn't care. Probably couldn't give a shit whether Thor saw him or still found him hot or whatever.

He didn't expect the Danish to have quite so much cinnamon on it - though of course it did, it was meant to be Christmassy - and ended up coughing and spluttering, drawing concerned attention to himself from a few neighbouring tables, waving a hand to try to show he was fine.

Ugh. Time to head out, grabbing a mince pie on the way, even though he'd regret it later. Delicious, but something in them just didn't quite agree with him.

Hopefully he wasn't going to bump into Loki again on the way. Surely he could avoid that ordeal at least.

The morning was cold and crisp, refreshing, piles of leaves turned almost white with frost, his breath billowing in the air and feet crunching through salt.

He wasn't first to arrive of course. There was a gang of cellists - a growl of cellists? A depth of cellists? - wrestling with the door and their cases and Thor was only too happy to help. He was seldom burdened with an instrument to look after for these types of gigs - it was pretty difficult to steal a timpani for example, far more so than a flute or a violin. And who was going to steal a tambourine, really?

"You're one of the alumnus players, right?" one of them asked, his case patterned with stickers from music festivals and youth music groups.

"That's me. Been ten years since I graduated."

"And you're still playing professionally?"

"Yeah, yeah. I do a lot of session work. Drumming. Though with EDM, it's all loops now. Still, I do a fair amount of musical theatre too. The rise of the rock opera has been very good to me."

"Do you... have any contacts for that sort of thing?"

Ah. Networking. He didn't mind really, noting down the audition line number for his main company. They didn't often have openings, but getting on the list of potentials was often the first step, he found.

He'd really been hoping to get to practise a little on the actual celeste in private before many other people arrived, but they were all keen beans. The flautists were playing the impressive high stuff, the strings all playing different parts in a strange cacophony, the harpist working through complex chords, fingers dancing. He could probably get away with it in this much noise, even though the twinkling tones tended to carry.

But he didn't have time. Loki was coming in, face slightly stormy. His... person who he wasn't sharing a room with looked decidedly smug. Something was clearly going on there.

Loki took off his coat and scarf, removing his gloves with his teeth in a way that gave Thor an unexpected palpitation - which he was definitely ignoring - before stepping up onto the podium.

Thor stared.

Was that... a Christmas jumper? A novelty Christmas jumper? But Loki wouldn't been seen dead in one of those.

The Loki he knew, anyway. Had known.

It had a cartoon Christmas pudding on it, perfect dripping icing and a happy little smile, the holly leaves that no one ever actually put on them at a jaunty angle, sequin accents and a caption that Thor had to squint to read from this distance.

_Up With This I Will Not Pud_

What the hell was going on?

"Right, we'll play through Sugar Plum first," Loki said briskly, tying his hair back. "And then I have notes. Tune up, please."

Thor hurried over to the celeste, recruiting one of his fellow percussionists to turn the pages for him, flexing his fingers while the rest of the room organised themselves. This was fine. He'd done it so many times he could practically play it in his sleep.

He placed his hands over the first chord, the strings plucking out familiar notes, watching for the cue...

Loki's eyes met his over all the heads, the movement of the baton like a stab.

Thor failed to begin. The beat went by, the notes unplayed.

Loki tapped the baton against his music stand, waving for everyone to a stop.

"Let's try that again," he said. "And perhaps the celeste player will deign to grace us with his presence this time."

Thor felt his cheeks heat up, embarrassed to have made such a rookie mistake and also to be talked about like that. Like they were strangers. Like they hadn't had years and years of intimate closeness.

Right. Push everything out. There's only the music.

His second attempt was far better. His fingers flew over the keys, muscle memory carrying him through, even the most complex and exposed parts sounding perfect and fluid.

The final flourish rang out and Thor dared to actually look Loki in the face once more.

"A bit fast for my liking," Loki said, half shrugging. "Though I suppose that's to be expected."

Was that... a sex joke? Surely not. More likely a percussionist joke.

_How do you know a percussionist's at your door? The knocking keeps speeding up._

Thor barely listened to advice Loki had to give, though to be fair hardly any of it was for him or his section. Just that they needed to watch more closely and stick to his time. The usual.

"If you'd like to split into sections, I believe there are rooms booked for group practice. I'll be talking to soloists individually, but I think you all know what you have to work on."

The usual hustle and bustle of a whole orchestra moving out, the alumni calling out room numbers. Not percussion though. They got to keep the main hall. Mostly because no one wanted to push glockenspiels around unnecessarily.

It took a moment for Thor to realise he was being looked at expectantly.

Oh. Right. He was meant to be the mentor, wasn't he? He was supposed to be helping.

"OK," he said, trying to seem like he knew what he was doing. "I suppose we should look over the Trepak since that's where we have most to do and then the end of the Waltz."

It was always strange hearing just this section. Silent as everyone counted and then flurries of movement.

They were discussing whether or not the tambourine hits ought to ricochet more when Thor was tapped on the shoulder.

Loki's young man. Right. He'd been summoned.

"Hey," he forced himself to say as he nudged the brakes on the celeste off. "I'm Thor."

No response. Well, then.

At least he was assisted in getting the damn thing down the corridor. It wasn't particularly heavy, just unwieldy.

And there was Loki in a smallish room decorated with the posters of long-ago shows, pencil behind his ear, frowning lightly at his notes.

"Right," he said, not even looking at him. "Any concerns before we play it through? Anything we need to discuss?"

Thor's mouth had fallen open and he wasn't really aware that his lips were moving before he heard himself speak.

"Is that it?"


	8. Chapter 8

Loki had known this would hurt. It's why he'd put Thor second to last of all the soloists he had to see. Put him off for as long as possible but tried not to let him leave a bad taste.

But here he was, arms folded, as broad and tall and handsome as ever, the stuff that had first attracted Loki when they met all those years ago, a friend of a friend who needed to split rent money.

"We're both here to do a job," Loki tried. "I thought we could keep it professional."

He watched as Thor wrestled with himself, unable to hide his emotions very well.

"I think that will be hard for me without clearing the air a little."

Maybe that was fair, but Loki really didn't want to hear it. But if it was going to affect the music... Well, he could maintain a veneer of calm. Of being unaffected.

"Alright," he said, shrugging like he wasn't terrified. "Say what you have to say."

Thor frowned, clearly looking behind him. Ah. Clint.

"Relax, he's deaf," Loki said. "And he's discreet. You can speak freely."

A deep sigh, looking away, shaking his head.

"You broke my heart," Thor said simply. "Did you know that?"

Despite his promises to himself, Loki felt his hackles rise.

"I'm sorry," he spat. "Is that what you want to hear?"

"I want to hear why exactly you did it! Why did you leave me? Why couldn't we just talk about it?"

They'd raised their voices a little. So much for professionalism.

"I couldn't bear to be around you. You loved music more than you loved me."

"Oh, look who's talking," Thor almost yelled. "What did you want me to do? Did you want me to give up? Because you couldn't play, I had to stop too? You weren't the only one with dreams, Loki."

"You didn't understand..."

"I tried! I was always there for you. I was at your appointments, I was in the hospital waiting, I was holding you when you needed that and letting you scream at me and trying my best to keep you going. And as soon as you were back on your feet, you used them to walk out on me. Barely an explanation. Not even a penny of rent money. Phone number changed, no contact with our friends..."

"They were your friends, not mine."

"It was like you'd dropped off the edge of the world."

"You didn't know what I'd lost! I was going to be principal violinist in the London Philharmonic."

"No, you weren't! You weren't that good!"

Loki physically moved back. That had been like a blow, like a slap. And he could instantly see the regret in Thor's face, that he hadn't meant to say that.

"Loki, I..."

"No, no. Say what you really think. Why don't you remind me that there are children starving around the world? Or how lucky I am to still have some use of my hand?"

Thor set his jaw, but lowered his voice.

"You treated that chair like it was your birthright before you'd even played a professional gig. And I know it was your dream, but... nothing could have helped what happened."

"But I could have helped how our relationship ended," Loki said coldly. "I get it. My fault. Everything fucking is."

"That's not what I said."

"Play the damn tune."

Thor opened his mouth like he was going to argue but then clearly thought better of it and moved to the celeste, shaking his head.

It was strange to hear an angry version of what was meant to be a delicate piece. Note perfect, of course. But it was less Sugar Plum and more high-fructose corn syrup.

Thor looked at him afterwards, almost pouting, daring him to criticise.

Well, then he would.

"I know delicacy has never been your strong point, but you could make an effort."

Thor actually rolled his eyes at him. The audacity!

"No, that's right. I forgot that all I was good for was hitting things with hammers. Not real music, like you."

Had he really said that?

Yes. He knew he had, in a moment of anger.

Had he meant it? About percussionists, maybe, at the time, before he'd known how complex the range of skills they had was. But not about Thor.

No, despite it all, Thor had been very gentle, most of the time.

Oh, this was going to hurt...

"We can't work like this," he said, running a hand through his hair.

"Well, we can't not work," Thor said. "We need to eat."

Hm. Maybe that gave him at least the germ of an idea.

"OK," Loki said, sighing. "If we can be... I don't mean civil as such, more like calm, I suppose, then we should have dinner tonight. Catch up. Talk things through like adults. And then tomorrow will be fine and we can carry on with our lives."

Thor seemed mistrustful, but he clearly had to admit that that was a better idea than yelling about it in a practice room.

"Fine," he said. "Yeah. We should... try at least."

The prickles didn't go away. Thor played again, softer this time. Near perfect.

And Loki had the strangest sensation of deja vu. He'd seen that view so many times, Thor sat at a keyboard, his shoulders slightly curved, not the best of techniques but servicable.

He'd seen it when he was exhausted from a day of practising with his tutors, when he'd just woken up, when he was coming home from appointments. The good times when he'd sneak up on Thor and kiss his neck or stroke his hair, or make him a tea or a sandwich.

And then in the bad times, when Thor was hunched and Loki would stand behind him, scowling at his back, wanting to scream about how it wasn't fair, wanting to turn back the clock, wanting to rage and smash things.

But this was different. Different situation, different instrument.

And it was near perfect.

"Alright," Loki said eventually. "You're fine. I knew you would be. I'll see you after and we can... talk."

"OK," Thor said.

He wasn't angry anymore. He seemed sad. Maybe remembering those old times too.

"So?" Clint asked when he returned from helping Thor push the celeste back.

"I need the alumnus from the clarinets."

A look of pure exasperation.

"With Blondie."

"None of your business, but we're going to have dinner later. Sort things out."

"Like a date?"

Loki didn't even dignify that with a reply.

The very idea!


	9. Chapter 9

Thor spent the rest of the day trying not to be nervous. Loki was paying more attention to the younger members of the orchestra and Thor couldn't tell if that was deliberate avoidance of him or not.

So many times over the years, he'd tried to imagine what he'd say to Loki in this situation. And it had come up and they'd shouted at each other.

Couldn't do that over dinner. Things couldn't get too heated. He was going to have to tread carefully. Keep himself in check.

They probably weren't going to need the third day of rehearsal. Maybe just for real polishing. Or maybe Loki would let them all go away early for a long pre-concert nap.

In the meantime, he should sort out the things he needed to say in his head. Most importantly, the fact that he had been hurt, of course, but that he forgave that. And also that he was sorry too.

The real difficulty was going to be wording that sentiment in a way that didn't make it sound hollow or forced. He wasn't always the best at not putting his foot in his mouth. It was part of why he liked percussion so much. You either got things in the right place or you didn't. You couldn't hit a snare drum condescendingly. No one could ever be accused of flaunting the cymbals.

He was nervous. But why? It was just Loki. Hadn't they once been as close as it was possible for two people to be? Didn't they used to tell each other all their dreams and fears and hopes and worries? Why was it so daunting?

Well, maybe because of that. Because once they had been that close and now they were almost strangers.

He took a walk during the lunch break, fresh air, trying to clear his head. It was nice to be back in his old university town, seeing what had changed and what had stayed the same. His feet took him down familiar shortcuts and alleyways, his old stomping grounds. What was the same and what was different?

Well, the local pub had changed for a start. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Sure, it hadn't been the nicest of places, but it had been cheap. The Cross Keys, except with piano keys instead of door ones. Most of the student musicians drank there in his day. And now it was called No. 78 and seemed to have had quite the facelift.

He didn't go in. Too many memories. Celebrations, birthdays. That time they went to a pub quiz and there'd been a mistake in the music round and Loki had almost got banned for life for threatening the quizmaster.

Thor couldn't resist a smile just thinking of it. What had he said? "You wouldn't know Paganini if he harvested your kidneys." Such an odd, visceral thing to say, and Thor had laughed and laughed. It was just surreal.

And then they'd called their team Paganini's Stolen Kidneys all semester, refusing to explain why.

They'd done a lot of laughing and kissing in that pub. He didn't want to see it all different. Onwards.

For some reason - possibly because he liked torturing himself - he went to the old flat. The outside, anyway. Close by. Convenient. No doubt other musicians living there now so they could roll out of bed and straight to class.

The bloody windows had been done! Alright, yes, it had been a decade, but he'd tried to get the landlord to double-glaze the place for years! Typical that it would be done after they left.

Whoever lived there now certainly was festive. Even from the ground, he could see a Christmas tree, one of those colour-changing fibre optic numbers, and garlands of tinsel looping from pane to pane.

He remembered so clearly viewing this place. He hadn't even met Loki before really, but he'd seen him around. They moved in similar circles. And they both needed somewhere to live with someone more or less trustworthy.

It had been a complete dump, to be honest. Stains. The faint smell of damp. Draughty. But they couldn't afford anything better so Thor had given the place as deep a clean as he could manage and got some cheap white emulsion to refresh the worst rooms and they'd moved in at the end of summer.

It was awkward at first. Strangers almost, trying to work out how to live around one another. Thor had been fairly smitten fairly early. Loki was so clever and witty. And smoking hot, of course. But he just figured he wasn't his type and that was fine.

His suggestion to sleep in the same bed was partially because he felt they could use the smaller room for practice and study, which would be easier if it wasn't someone's private space, but also because as the nights were drawing in, Loki was clearly freezing. What was the point of being so warm at night if you couldn't put that warmth to good use?

He even remembered that first night, Loki all bundled up in multiple layers, a careful gap left between them. Didn't want him thinking he was trying to take advantage or anything.

And then waking up to find Loki all coiled around him, clinging on for warmth, trying to stop his heart beating quite so fast...

And a couple of weeks later when Loki woke up, curled against him as usual and said so softly that there were _other ways_ to keep warm, if he wanted.

Thor realised he was staring somewhat aggressively at a stranger's bedroom window and made himself move along.

It was meant to just be a bit of fun, but somewhere along the way feelings got involved and suddenly they were renewing their lease in a gentle state of domesticity.

They never talked about exclusivity, of course. Loki would have found that too normal, probably. They weren't supposed to be normal, they were special.

Well, special couldn't protect you from reality.

And now reality was calling and it meant he had to go back to rehearsals, get through another few hours and then go to dinner with his ex-boyfriend and talk about it all like grown-ups.

And you couldn't really rehearse for that. Especially not where Loki was involved.


	10. Chapter 10

God, Loki hated young people. They were all so bright and keen, so certain of their own brilliance. So blissfully unaware that the world could crush them in a second.

He found himself slightly swarmed by them, all wanting individual attention in a way that professionals seldom did. And he tried. He did. There was a foundation of insecurity here that he knew it was his job to strengthen this week. But sometimes they did get on his already frayed nerves just a little too much.

"I hear you were a violinist."

"Yes, I was."

"But not anymore?"

"No."

Surely they'd take the hint that he didn't want to talk about it...

"Why did you give up?"

Give up? Give up?! He didn't give up. He'd fought tooth and nail for it. He'd battled for months in a losing effort to keep going.

"Health problems," he said vaguely. "Bar 117, you said? Would you like a specific cue for that?"

He very carefully didn't point out that it could happen to any one of them. Illness didn't discriminate. Talent couldn't save you any more than dedication or passion could. And it wasn't fair.

And, yes, it wasn't necessarily the end of the world. You could bounce back. He had bounced back. He was doing well for himself, considering, well enough to employ a whole other person to help him, but he knew that it could all change in an instant.

And even though it hadn't been the end of the world, it had definitely felt like it was. And because of that, he'd messed up a lot of things. Irreversibly messed them up.

That would be his advice, if any of them were really asking for it. When you're in crisis, not all your instincts are right. You will make mistakes. Some of these will not be a big deal and some of them you might regret for the rest of your life. Get help if you can. Be patient with people who are trying to help.

You won't realise how much you really need them until they're gone.

He'd thought about that a lot over the years. Especially in the early days. Three months after he walked out, six months, a year. Thought about going and flinging himself on Thor's doorstep, begging to be taken back. But his pride - his damn pride - wouldn't let him.

And now here they were and soon enough time would be up and they were going to dinner and he was still wearing a stupid novelty jumper.

Maybe that's why the children were swarming him; he looked too approachable.

It was awkward waiting at the end of rehearsals, watching everyone pack up, Clint tapping him on the shoulder to wish him good luck. Yeah. He needed it.

And there was Thor putting on a thick woollen hat and gloves, buttoning his coat.

"I'm starving," he said. "Forgot to eat lunch. Anywhere in particular you were thinking of?"

Loki had a horrible vision of returning to one of their old haunts, appropriately almost as ghosts of their former selves.

"I thought the hotel," he said. "So we won't have to go out in the cold again."

"Yeah, sounds good."

This was weird. Too weird. Neither of them knew what to say on the walk back, but they had to talk, they had to get it all out there. This might be their only chance to do it.

"I suppose I should apologise properly," Loki said, trying to grasp the nettle. "I know I must have hurt you. A lot. And I am truly sorry."

Thor made that face he always did, that face that pretended everything was OK, trying to avoid vulnerability. He had an almost pathological need to be strong, physically and emotionally.

"I forgave you a long time ago."

"Did you?" Loki said, not believing that for a second. "Because it didn't feel that way this morning. It felt like you still hated me."

Thor sniffed. Just from the cold?

"Of course I don't hate you. I never did."

"Oh, really?"

A scoff, a sigh, great plumes of breath billowing in front of them.

"Alright, fine," Thor said. "Yes, when it first happened, I... I hated you a little. I felt like I had been giving and giving and giving for so long and you'd decided it wasn't enough. That I wasn't enough. And that did hurt. But it was a long, long time ago and I wasn't able to give you the support you needed. I wasn't enough. You needed more. And that wasn't either of our faults."

He was being so reasonable. He'd grown-up. They both had. And that felt... strange.

Thor held the door open, letting Loki go in first, asked for a table for two while he was still trying to get his head in order.

The truth was that he'd been wrapped up in himself at the time. His own pain, his own misery. And he hadn't noticed the toll everything was taking on Thor as well, except maybe when they were fighting.

Even then, he interpreted it as anger aimed at him rather than the universe at large and how unfair it could be.

How could he say that leaving had been a mistake and that he wished he'd never done it without it sounding like he wanted Thor back?

Did he? No. Well... No, they were different people now. So much had changed.

And it seemed Thor wanted to know just how much as they ordered drinks and started looking over the menus - fortunately not entirely Christmas themed.

"So, how have you been? Really?"

Well. That was a big question.

"Recently?" Loki asked. "Good. Yeah, good. I do a lot of composing, so I can do it from home which is handy. You've probably heard a bit of my work, out and about. I do a lot of adverts and incidental TV stuff."

"I heard about it when you won the BAFTA. I thought about sending a card, but I... Well, I figured it wouldn't have been appreciated, out of the blue like that."

Loki blinked at the words on the menu in front of him and wondered why they weren't making sense.

"It would certainly have been surprising," he managed.

"And unwelcome?"

There wasn't much he could do but sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Maybe. Honestly, it's quite hard seeing you. You're all mixed up in terrible memories for me. Good ones too, really good ones but... Well, you know what happened. I developed a condition, I lost my ability to play, I suffered a... A nervous breakdown or a psychotic break or something and the next thing I know, it's months later and I've... made mistakes."

He shrugged. He didn't know what else to do, didn't know what Thor wanted from him.

"Is that what it was?" he heard from across the table. "A nervous breakdown?"

His therapist said it had all the hallmarks of one, but he wasn't going to say that out loud just yet. It was somewhat more complicated than that. But it would be the easiest way for Thor to understand and so he nodded as their drinks arrived and they were asked what they wanted to eat.

What did he want? He'd read the menu three tines without understanding any of it.

"I'll have whatever you're having," he said, hoping it wasn't anything too hearty.

Risotto. Bold choice for this kind of place, but alright.

Thor picked up his glass of stout, not drinking it, just holding. Like it was for comfort.

"I tried to rationalise it in my head so many times," he said. "Why you chose that specific night to walk out. The end of year showpiece. Whether you were trying to make it hurt or whether you were hoping I'd be happy enough that the blow would be softened. But I guess if you weren't in your right mind, then..."

It would have been so easy to let him think that. Let him think it had just been coincidence that he left on Thor's big night.

But that wouldn't be honest and this might be Loki's only chance to unearth that particular skeleton...

"I chose it deliberately," he said. "I couldn't bear to go to that concert. To see them all, hear it all. See all those people who could still do what I spent my whole life learning to do when I couldn't anymore..."

He caught himself before he really got upset. He could do this.

"I know now that I was being irrational," he said, slowly and carefully. "But at the time, it felt like... Almost like you were trying to hurt me, trying to rub it in my face by asking me to go and see it. And so I wanted to hurt you back."

There were a few moments of silence, Loki still feeling dangerously close to tears.

"I..." Thor said. "I honestly didn't think of it like that. I thought the music might... cheer you up a little. You'd barely been moving, barely eating. I was desperate. I thought it would be a reason for you to leave the flat. The irony was not lost on me."

Loki looked at him balefully.

"It was just a little insensitive of you to want me to go and watch other violinists play when I could barely move my left hand, that's all. Not malicious. Not deliberate. I realise that now. You thought you were helping."

He tried his best to force a smile but didn't quite manage it.


	11. Chapter 11

It was difficult to watch as Loki took a deep breath and forced his face into neutrality.

"Anyway," he said. "I'm over it now. I spend a lot of my time around violinists and I hardly ever get jealous anymore."

Thor's heart felt like it had vanished, a horrible emptiness there. All these years and he hadn't even realised that Loki had felt that way about it.

How had he not seen? It was so obvious now.

"I wish you'd told me," he said before he could stop himself. "I just wanted to impress you. To show off that I could do it, that I could play a real solo. I didn't realise..."

"Yes, well. Water under the bridge, as they say."

It didn't feel that way. It felt like a horrible whirlpool that they were trapped in, unable to pull either themselves or each other out of.

Part of him wanted to say how hard it had been for him, how the music and the approaching concert were the only thing keeping him going as he watched Loki completely fall apart while he couldn't help. But it sounded like an excuse.

It had all started so small in the beginning, when Loki was getting little tingles in his hand, finally going to the doctor and coming home with splints and prescribed rest - pretty useless when not practising enough made him antsy and nervous - and as it got worse, the anti-inflammatory injections, endless appointments at the hospital, the decision to turn to surgery to try to alleviate the symptoms.

He noticed even now that Loki never said the name out loud. Carpal tunnel syndrome. Those syllables had been forbidden in their house. Like if they didn't speak its name, it would go away.

And finally he was woken in the night because Loki was screaming that the local anesthetic had worn off but he still couldn't move his hand.

And they had learned about rare surgical complications, exactly what nerve damage was, how long it was going to take to heal.

How Loki's hand would likely never be the same, even in the best outcome. And how quickly he'd deteriorated mentally after that because he'd run out of hope and Thor couldn't give him any no matter how he tried.

"Did they ever give you compensation for medical negligence?" he found himself asking.

"Months of private physiotherapy," Loki said. "It's most of the reason I regained as much as I did. The injury to my nerves healed, to an extent. Just took a while. But fine motor skills... I have good days and bad. I'm not the best touch typist. And I definitely couldn't have kept playing. I'd have caused irreversible damage."

Thor's eyes drifted to the scar at the base of his palm, the place where they'd opened him up to try to help. He had the oddest urge to touch it, like his fingers could heal the damage done so long ago.

"We should talk about happier things," he said. "Get to know each other again. Are you seeing anyone?"

Loki spluttered into his gin and tonic, still coughing when their food arrived - holly-patterned plates, of course.

"What kind of a question is that?"

Maybe too intimate, really, but still...

"Well, you know. There's more to life than work."

"Are _you_ seeing anyone?" Loki asked, throwing it back at him.

"No. Not at the moment. I've had a few partners over the years, nothing too serious. It's hard to date people who don't know the lifestyle. The travelling and the late nights. The unreliability."

"The literal gig economy."

"Yeah."

He couldn't help noticing that Loki was not answering his question. Maybe it was none of his business.

"Sorry," he said. "Shouldn't have asked."

"No, no, it's fine. I was more concerned that you were going to tell me all about your wonderful spouse and I was going to have to admit that I'm a lonely little goblin."

Thor laughed even while his heart ached. Lonely? Really?

"I thought maybe you and..."

"Clint? No, he's my assistant. It would be unethical, for a start. Besides, you can tell we're not suited after he bought me this monstrosity."

Thor listened to the whole story of how Loki's bag had been ruined, how his clothes were still drying and how he'd had to spend all day looking like a fun uncle, a phrase he somehow managed to imbue with infinite levels of disdain.

"I like it," Thor said. "It's cute."

"Well, you would. You always did have poor taste in everything other than men."

"Excuse me, just because I have some colour in my wardrobe..."

"I have colour!"

"Bottle green and navy blue hardly count."

"I wore yellow. Once."

Oh, yes, Thor remembered that. It was part of a show the conservatoire did for local schoolkids, meant to teach them about different instruments, and each section had to wear a specific colour. For some reason the first violins were in sunshine yellow.

"We must have walked for miles trying to find you a shirt. And we ended up buying the one from the kid's section."

"Believe me, I remember. No 14-year-old boy would have been seen dead in it. And it was indecently tight on me."

"You looked good in it," Thor said. "It really made your hair... You know, dramatic. I could barely play for staring at you."

"Like when you missed your cue today, then?"

Thor opened his mouth, but only the tiniest sound came out. Almost a laugh. He wanted to deny it, but it was true, he was still deeply attracted to Loki.

"It was mainly the shock of you looking at me," he admitted. "Your eyes always were disarming."

Was that flirting? Were they flirting a little bit right now?

Did he mean to be flirting?

Loki's eyebrows had shot up, his fork halfway to his mouth. OK. Maybe that was flirting and maybe it was a step too far because Loki was putting his cutlery down and sitting back.

"I can't... I can't do this," he said.

That hadn't been what Thor expected.

"What?"

A gulp of his drink, watered down now by melted ice cubes.

"You know Clint was making fun of me saying this was a date? I can't sit here and be cute with you, I just can't because..."

He very visibly stopped himself from finishing that sentence.

"Why?" Thor pressed.

Loki's eyes fell shut, sighing.

"Because if I flirt with you then I'll be tempted. And it can't happen. We both know that. Please don't torture me like this. We should just eat as... friends."

Thor's brain had suddenly run away down a rather different road.

Was Loki talking about trying again? Dating, seeing each other? Well, why not? Why couldn't it happen? They both liked each other still, or he certainly did. They were both in a healthier place now. They understood the pressures of being in the music business. Neither of them had meant to hurt the other.

Well, Loki had perhaps, but only because he was hurting so much. He'd said, hadn't he, that he hadn't been thinking clearly?

But if he didn't want to...

"Sure," Thor said. "Of course."

He shouldn't push, but all the same, he should make Loki aware that this was an option. Even if he didn't want to right now, he might change his mind in the future? Maybe?

The question was how he could make that clear in a subtle and relaxed manner with absolutely no expectations.

How difficult could that be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently surgery usually cures carpal tunnel if other treatments don't work, so I had to give him motor nerve damage complications - sorry, Loki!
> 
> Also if you thought their communication issues were solved...


	12. Chapter 12

This had been a mistake, Loki was realising. All of it, but especially coming for dinner, because there was Thor, as sweet and as warm as ever, like he'd walked directly out of the past, like none of it had ever happened.

Well, not exactly, but like it had happened and it could be let go and forgiven in a heartbeat and that simply was not true.

God, he was tempted though. It would be so easy to flirt back, to take Thor upstairs, have a night of passion for the road...

And then be thrown back into his real life. Alone. To once again think about all he'd thrown away because he was stubborn and proud.

He couldn't do that to himself again. One taste wouldn't be enough. He couldn't bear it.

The risotto could have been better, but at least it was filling the hollow in the pit of his stomach.

"So how's the life of a travelling percussionist?" he asked, hoping his inner turmoil wasn't obvious.

"Oh, well, you know," Thor said. "I love it and I'm very lucky to be able to do it, but it has its downsides. I don't really feel like I have a home really anymore. There's a place where I keep my stuff, but I don't feel like I really live there as such."

"How do you mean?"

"I commute into London for the theatres when I have work there and I go on tour around the world and so on, so half the time I'm not even there. I don't have any local friends. I don't even know the area very well apart from the closest supermarket. It's... odd to not have any roots, I suppose."

Loki almost felt like he had nothing but roots. He did the majority of his work from home, an unused second reception room split into two as part composing suite and part office. Clint commuted to him, using his kitchen to make the coffees and so on. Home space and work space were the same. His private life, such as it was, existed entirely upstairs behind closed doors.

"You always wanted to travel," he tried.

"Mm," Thor agreed. "And I have seen the inside of lots of theatres and cheap hotels and not much else. But you get to work with some of the best in the business, right?"

"I wish. I mostly work with electronic reproduction which isn't exactly the same thing. You don't get the spontaneity or artistry from a computer. The vibrato, the pause for breath, the little florishes - the technology isn't good enough to recreate that yet. You need people for orchestral stuff. It's only when I hear a piece played by actual musicians that I know whether or not it's quite what I was going for."

Thor gave him a little half smile across the table.

"It's magic, what you do."

Flattery. Was this more flirting? Had he just reached a stage where anyone being vaguely nice seemed like flirting now?

"How do you mean?"

"You start with nothing, just an idea or a concept and you combine a whole bunch of different sounds into something new. I could never do that. I just hit the things when I'm supposed to. I couldn't begin to figure out how to combine chords together or counter melodies, let alone know if it was physically possible for the musicians to play."

"It's more maths than magic," Loki said, a little pleased all the same. "Once you know which combinations of notes evoke which moods, it's really quite simple."

"To you, maybe. I still think it's witchcraft. I'd love to see how you do it."

Was he angling for an invite or something?

"Oh, it's very boring most of the time."

And with that, he kind of ran out of things to say. Time to scrape the barrel.

"How are your parents?"

"They're well. Dad's getting even more grumpy as he gets older, but they're still active. They've started going on coach trips. Round the Cotswolds, the Greek Isles, that kind of thing."

"Didn't think that would be their scene."

"No. No, me neither. I suppose it takes away the worry of having to drive."

Thor was carefully not asking about his home life, he noticed. Better tell him, Loki supposed.

"My dad died."

A faint clatter of cutlery.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Loki shrugged.

"He never liked you anyway. And I hadn't spoken to him for years. You know how he was. Didn't like that I pursued music in the first place, let alone after..."

He shook his left hand. Continuing to pursue a career in the industry when he couldn't play instead of getting a 'proper job' had been very disappointing to a parent who always kind of expected him to snap out of it and find something more lucrative.

"All the same, it must have been a shock," Thor said.

"I suppose. He left me some money. I don't know if he meant to or if he just forgot to write me out of his will."

"How did your mum take it?"

"Oh, she's remarried now. Stepkids. We don't talk much either, but she sends me a book token every year for Christmas and my birthday. Who knew you could even get actual book tokens anymore?"

Thor agreed vaguely and Loki could practically feel the waves of sympathy coming off him. He had that streak about him, always had, wanting to save people, look after them.

Well, Loki didn't need saving. He was fine, thank you very much.

"Can I bring you some dessert menues?" their server asked, despite the fact that Loki hadn't even finished his main.

"No, thank you," he said. "Can we split the bill between two rooms?"

"I'll get it," Thor said.

"I can pay my own way."

A heartbeat passed with them both looking at each other and then Thor relented. A hollow victory.

And then they had to walk up the stairs together to their opposite rooms, so close together, like a joke from the universe at their expense.

"I'm glad we were able to do this," Thor said. "Clear the air a bit."

He was repeating himself. Just desperate to fill the silence.

"Yeah. And it will be good for the music now we understand each other."

The doors stood in front of them, much too ominous considering they were just pine veneer and chipboard.

"So," Thor said. "This is me."

He chuckled a little, running a hand awkwardly through his hair. An old habit. He used to do that all the time.

"Yeah," Loki said. "I'll... I'll see you in the morning."

He turned away hurriedly, frightened almost somehow, fumbling for his key card and getting into his own room, closing the door quickly.

And then watched through the peep hole as Thor stared at the wood, sighed, and turned away.

Like he'd been expecting something. Or planning to say something else.

Retreat had been a good move, Loki decided, before either of them got any bad ideas.

So why did his heart ache so much?


	13. Chapter 13

Thor entered his own room and didn't even bother turning the lights on before flopping face first onto the bed.

He should have kissed him! Well, maybe not kissed him, that was maybe a little premature, but he should have said something. Anything! Loki had been dropping hints all evening that he was lonely. Yeah, well, that made two of them. He hadn't even really noticed, he'd been living like that so long, but now he could feel that horrible ache in his chest.

What was honestly standing in their way? Fear, he guessed. Stubbornness. Self-fulfilling prophecies of doom.

That had been what stopped him making a move in the first place all those years ago, when they were students. Figuring Loki didn't like him that way, not wanting to ruin what they had as friends.

And now they had nothing, so what was there left to ruin?

Except their part in the celebratory concert, of course.

Hmm... No, Loki would definitely not appreciate that being put at risk, or any kind of public statement really. He might be a bit of a show-off but he tried to keep his emotions close to his chest. He wouldn't like being put on the spot.

Right, so he just had to do it in private and subtly and not pushy and yet also very clear and - because this was Loki - very focused on him.

Thor figured he might be better at thinking about the present if his brain wasn't suddenly full of memories. Actually seeing Loki and being back here, it was stirring up all that stuff he hadn't let himself think about for so many years and it was like a flood now.

It wasn't always freezing winter in their little home. Sometimes it was sweltering summer. The flat wasn't built for any weather other than nondescript drizzle and Loki had very poor temperature regulation. Where he'd bundle up in winter, he'd strip down to indecent levels as soon as the sun came out.

Thor had loved coming home from the shops or the gym or class or whatever and looking up at the flat and catching sight of Loki standing shirtless near the window, violin under his chin.

No doubt the neighbours opposite caught sight of him often too, not that he'd likely mind. It fit in with his artiste persona, being just a little wild alongside the discipline of practice.

But besides the attraction and the relationship, it was nice just to come home to someone. It was nice to be part of their life as a normal, day-to-day thing.

They'd been good for each other, mostly. Hadn't they? Thor had reminded Loki to eat and to take breaks and they'd helped each other with music theory and Loki had injected fun into his life, always making him laugh, sometimes with just the quirk of an eyebrow.

He really wouldn't mind having that back.

In time, he rolled over and set about getting into his pyjamas. Housekeeping had turned up the heaters rather higher than he liked them, giving him the welcome distraction of trying to work out the thermostat.

He couldn't sleep. Kept replaying bits of dinner, wondering what he should have done or said differently, wondering if Loki was doing the same thing or if he'd gone straight to sleep like a sensible conductor would the night before a concert.

Like a sensible musician ought to.

And yet he was sorely tempted to try knocking on Loki's door, on getting it all out in the open... But if Loki wanted him, he wouldn't have turned away so suddenly.

Unless he was merely scared of appearing vulnerable. That was very Loki. He always had to be strong, untouched by any hurdle, only breaking down when he couldn't be seen or judged. Only letting Thor see and even then not always. Sometimes he tried to hide even from him.

It wasn't like Thor could hold any high ground on that front, pouring all of his negative feelings into another set of reps, another mile run, another drum fill rather than actually addressing them.

Different ways of dealing, neither of which were necessarily healthy. He hadn't noticed at the time how well Loki could read him, even when he was pretending nothing was wrong, cutting through and distracting him before he even knew what had happened.

And now he was scared that they could barely read one another at all.

Maybe that meant Loki was right. Maybe they should let the past go.

No. He was sure it was worth trying at least.

He set an early alarm. Maybe he could catch Loki at breakfast or something. And say...

Argh...

Luck may have been slightly on his side when he finished getting dressed and heard movement in the corridor, rushing to the peep hole just in time to see Loki's assistant poised to knock.

Of course! Perfect!

He flung his door open and pounced, maybe a little too enthusiastically if the way Clint jumped at the sudden movement was anything to go by, beckoning him hurriedly into his room.

Right. Right. He could just ask. He was just asking.

"I need to ask you something," he said, slowly and deliberately, trying to make his lip movements clear.

A withering look.

"I'm deaf, not stupid," Clint said. "Speak normally."

Thor was a little surprised.

"I didn't know you... talked."

Was that insensitive? Probably.

"I can. I just choose not to, most of the time. Is this about Loki?"

Thor nodded. He might as well just lay it out there, get a second opinion.

"We had dinner last night and, well... I really like him, still. I'd like to try dating again. But I don't know if he feels the same, if he would want it and I don't want to make him uncomfortable by putting him in an awkward position..."

"I'll ask him."

"No! No, he can't know I'm interested unless he's definitely interested too."

As he was saying it, he realised how ridiculous that sounded and Clint's face only confirmed it.

"I will ask very carefully and subtly, only in hypotheticals. But you know him. He's not always the most emotionally open person."

Yeah, wasn't that just the crux of it?

"Thank you. I really do appreciate it."

They shook hands awkwardly. This felt very teenage. Asking a friend to ask if someone fancied you.

But better to be able to stop before things went too far if he wasn't wanted.

He barely managed to eat breakfast for nerves.


	14. Chapter 14

Loki was tying his hair back when he heard the knock on his door. He looked awful, he knew he did. Tired from tossing and turning all night.

He'd been unable to sleep. Kept being so tempted to cross the hall, to wake Thor up and just let himself remember for just a night what is was like to be with someone who loved him.

Only a night though, and that wasn't enough. Thor surely wouldn't want more than that, wouldn't want anything long term or serious. He was well out of all the mess that was Loki.

It was Clint. Of course it was. Not with good shop-bought coffee, alas.

"How did it go last night?" he asked without so much as a good morning.

Loki couldn't hold back the sigh.

"OK, I suppose."

Raised eyebrows. That was evidently not remotely convincing.

"Fine," Loki said, reaching for the room kettle. "It was... confusing. I don't know how to describe it."

He used filling it and ripping open the little coffee sachets as an excuse not to talk.

"In what way?" Clint asked, using the mirror to sign, knowing exactly what he was like, that he was trying to hide.

"A confusing way. Like it made me think about things, about my lifestyle. About how the ideal world might be if I wasn't so... like I am."

"So do you still like him?"

"No!" Loki said, flicking on the kettle maybe a hair too aggressively and then, "Maybe. But it doesn't matter if I do. He's not interested."

A shrug, like Clint wasn't so convinced.

"I hurt him," Loki insisted. "Badly. I could have really messed him up, maybe did. He doesn't want that back in his life."

"Have you asked?"

"Oh, don't be stupid!"

After all, Thor might know him, but that meant he knew Thor and if he asked then Thor would feel obligated to take him back because he was poor little Loki with his damaged hand and his broken dreams. Sad, unlovable Loki.

He didn't want pity. He wanted...

Well, it would be helpful if he had any real kind of idea what he wanted.

Clint signed something he didn't understand.

"Slow down?"

No. Still nothing. He resorted to literally spelling it out.

"H-Y-P-O-T-H-E-T-I-C-A-L-L-Y, would you be interested?"

"Hypothetically, yes, but that's not exactly relevant. There is no situation where Thor would want to risk his heart again. And I'm a mess. I can't inflict myself on him."

At last, Clint seemed to get the message that he didn't want to talk about it, making a vaguely comforting face and asking what he wanted for breakfast.

Loki just held up his cup and filled it. He wasn't hungry. Besides, if he ate, he'd just get indigestion.

They drank in quiet, but that was fairly normal for them. It was difficult to sign when your hands were busy. It really was awful coffee though. Strangely bland and yet also unpleasantly bitter.

Maybe that was just how things tasted when you had a fuck-up well and truly confirmed to you. At least Thor had managed to bounce back into a career. At least he hadn't scarred him so badly that his life had been derailed.

At least he had that.

It was difficult even to see him at the start of rehearsals, the final push towards perfection before the evening show.

Thor smiled and waved at him. Loki forced himself to return the gesture. That's right. They were friends now. He'd asked for that and now he had it.

Great. Fan-fucking-tastic.

At least he was dressed in something he'd chosen today, even if it was proving Thor's hypothesis that he had no colour in his wardrobe.

Black suited him, what could he say?

"Right," he said to the sea of expectant faces. "Quick play through and then sections, and any individual attention you might want, but I don't think you need it, to be honest."

They practically preened at his praise. Yes, yes, you're all brilliant...

Really he just wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. He might have a bath between rehearsal and concert. A bit of face cream to cover his exhaustion. Time alone. As usual.

He could barely look at Thor during Sugar Plum. It seemed a mockery of all he'd lost, all he'd thrown away. That dedication and passion that Thor had, facing any challenge that came his way. He'd once had that passion turned on him. That love, the same tenderness and care that Thor gave to every phrase of the solo.

And he hadn't realised it. He'd pushed it away and then wondered why it hurt so much.

The baton kept moving almost without his input as he concentrated on not looking desolate.

"Very nice," he heard himself say. "A lullaby. Let's wake them up with the Trepak, shall we?"

This was better. He had a lot more to think about in terms of keeping the wind in check and convincing the whole orchestra to follow him in the speeding up towards the end. It was a lot like trying to control a train, if every single part of the train had a mind of its own.

Maybe that was why they both had conductors.

There wasn't much needing done he didn't think, but he let the musicians break into sections and asked that anyone wanting specific advice should come to see him in practice room three.

Would Thor come?

Did he want him to?

Yes and no, he supposed. Every moment was the sweetest torture, the horrible fear that Thor would come and want to talk or rehearse or both, the awful disappointment that he didn't. He didn't know which was worse, really.

No. He owed it to his Alma Mater to nurture the upcoming generation and definitely not imagine what he might do if Thor did show up. Alone, just the two of them in practice room three.

Ugh, he was being ridiculous.

And Clint had wandered off, not that he was necessarily needed. Maybe he thought the students would feel better with a proper one-on-one environment.

Loki tried his best to focus on the clarinetists and put all other thoughts out of his mind.


	15. Chapter 15

Thor's merry little band of percussionists looked at him expectantly. Somehow they still seemed to think he knew what they should be doing.

"Does anyone have any parts they particularly want to go through or are we ready?"

It seemed they were. More or less. The one at the glockenspiel wanted to practise a bit more, but she didn't need anyone else to be present. Thor elected to give them free time to use as they saw fit for individual work. They were responsible almost professional musicians after all.

It definitely wasn't because Clint had caught his eye from the back of the room.

Just walking over to him was difficult. He wanted to run, but he knew he needed to keep his cool. Like they were just having a normal chat and not at all deciding whether he should have hopes of trying again with the love of his life or not.

"Hey," he said quietly. "So did you talk to him?"

"Yes."

"And?"

A pause that made his heart seem to constrict, tightening and tightening, about to burst...

"He likes you, but it's complicated. He thinks you don't like him. Or that you don't want him. He thinks it's too late, that he messed everything up."

Ah. Classic Loki, dumping straight to doom without any reasoning.

"Would he believe me if I made my feelings clear?"

Clint shrugged.

"Who knows the inner workings of that mind?"

Fair point. Still, Thor felt he maybe knew Loki better than most even now.

"Do you have some paper I can borrow? And a pen?"

He'd write it down. He'd give Loki the privacy and space he needed to decide whether or not to act on it. And he wouldn't have to worry about accidentally saying the wrong thing in the heat of the moment.

How to start it?

Well, _Dear Loki_ was as good as anything else he was going to manage.

It took him a while. He didn't want to be too long-winded or too blunt. It was difficult to strike a balance. And there were words he wasn't sure if he ought to use. Like "love" for example - was that too heavy, too much, even in context?

This was so difficult. How had they even got together in the first place? Had he agonised about it all back then?

Yes. Yeah, he remembered that. How Loki had been the one who moved their friendship into friends with benefits territory. And Thor had figured it was out of convenience more than anything else, just a bit of fun with the nearest willing partner.

And then there'd been one morning when neither of them had to rush anywhere and they were just lazily rocking together, not pushing towards finishing any time soon and Thor had realised that he felt so comfortable and calm and warm and that that was just Loki's presence and that he quite often felt like that when they were together regardless of activity and after a bit of confusion he'd concluded that he was in love.

Which, of course, led to its own problems. Could he risk what they had by admitting his feelings? Did Loki even want a relationship or would saying it chase him away?

And in the end, he'd just blurted it out over dinner one night and Loki had looked a little surprised and then he'd said that he supposed that was alright.

It had been months before he'd unexpectedly said it back. Thor wasn't sure to this day whether he'd taken longer to fall or if he'd just wanted to be absolutely sure before putting it into words.

Loki didn't trust love very much. Growing up in the environment he did could do that to a person, Thor supposed. Parents who hated each other by the end of their divorce, who maybe had never loved each other in the first place. Loki tended to love fiercely, but only music. Loving people was dangerous because they might not love you back.

Thor hoped that he hadn't confirmed that for him. He certainly hadn't meant to.

Half an hour later, the letter was as good as it was going to get. But then what? Just hand it over? But that would put expectations on things. He didn't want to do that.

No, he'd leave it for Loki to find, on the music stand. On the front page of Sugar Plum. Nice and obvious.

Or so he thought until Loki returned, thanked everyone for their hard work and suggested they all relax and recharge before the concert, before - horror of horrors - packing up his music without a thought.

No, no, no.

"Loki," he tried. "Loki..."

Blocked by the fucking brass section!

Right. Right. This was fine. He'd just catch up with Loki at the hotel, just knock on his door and explain. Take the embarrassment hit.

It was typical that he wasn't there when Thor bounded along the corridor. Or at least that he wasn't answering his door.

Shit.

Unless this meant he'd found the note and read it and didn't feel the same and so he was ignoring him. That was always a risk, he supposed.

"Are you locked out of your room, sir?"

Housekeeping, with their trolley of fresh towels and linens.

"Er... No, no. My friend is in the room opposite and I was just... He's not in. Thank you."

OK. OK, new plan. He'd just catch Loki before the concert. They'd be heading over around the same time. He would just intercept him and explain and that would be that.

He was going to freak out if he hung around here though. Concerts of this type needed a specific ritual to ensure it all went to plan; triply so if he wasn't going to completely screw things up with Loki.

Step one, a proper work-out.

He collected his gear and set out for the gym he always used to go to, looking for some familiarity and comfort.

Only to find it had completely changed. Taken over by a chain, all bright blue and black. It had been weirdly homely back in his day. An old swimming pool moving into the gym world, reddish-brown tiles and the comforting smell of chlorine. Retro.

There wasn't even a receptionist now. Just a screen, a computer interface to purchase entry and a locker token.

He wasn't sure if he liked that. On the one hand, no awkward conversation, but on the other hand no human contact either.

Still, that was the way the world was going, wasn't it?

Maybe he shouldn't try to recapture the past.

Unhelpful thought, Thor.

After all, he figured, selecting his weights, it wasn't like he was trying to go back in time. He was trying to repair some damage and move forward. That was growth, right? Taking good things from the past and bringing them with you into the present.

He did his reps and then hit the treadmill. Bit of cardio, quick shower, food and then a nap, waking up in plenty of time to press his concert outfit and then catch Loki and explain himself.

It was going to be fine.

Everything was going to be fine.


	16. Chapter 16

"I am going to buy a bath bomb," Loki announced perhaps a little too dramatically if Clint's face was anything to go by. "And I'm going to relax and sleep and get this show over with and then tomorrow we can go home. Consider yourself free till concert time."

He didn't even try to read what he was half-heartedly signing.

Quite why he thought a bath would help, he didn't know, but he wanted to at least try to get some of the tension in his shoulders and neck out.

He took himself down the high street, noting the changes. Same as everywhere really. Empty shop fronts, to let signs everywhere, but extra bookies, nail bars and cafes. Nowhere was immune. It was all shifting.

But apparently fancy soap still had its place, full of shea butter and strange perfume combinations. All Christmas and winter themed at this time of year, of course.

After finally managing to escape gingerbread, he found a white one, designed as a snowball, with a delicate lily-of-the-valley scent and extra moisturisation. Just the kind of thing he'd been thinking of.

Of course, he only realised once he'd taken it back to the hotel and plunged it into hot water that it was also full of - hopefully biodegradable - glitter.

Oh, if he ended up sparkling all night, he was going to be furious...

Never mind. It was pleasant and relaxing, soothing. The perfume swirled around his head, his muscles easing a little. Heat tended to help his wrist as well. Really this was medicinal.

But, alas, it also meant that he was completely alone with his thoughts with no distractions, which generally was not a good place for him to be when he was unhappy. Spirals tended to happen.

He breathed deeply, closed his eyes and tried to focus on the sensation and sound of the water. Being mindful of his surroundings, not his internal turmoil.

Nope. Not enough. Relaxation was good, but he needed distraction.

And there was one thing that would accomplish both these goals, but he was wary of it. It might lead to... thoughts. Dangerous thoughts.

More or less dangerous than going into a depressive slump, that was the question.

Idly letting the water slosh a little bit, he palmed at his cock, feeling it stir. It was unwise to do this while his head was full of Thor, but, well... He could just keep it about sex and not about feelings.

After all, feelings aside, the sex had been pretty good regardless...

He sighed, realising he was just talking himself into this. He could fantasise about the past in order to get over it, right? That made total sense!

Right. OK. Which memory to pick?

There was that time he'd come home to find Thor had run him a bath after a difficult week a few months after they officially became a couple. He was always trying to do romantic things, like he wanted to prove something. Who he wanted to prove it to was anyone's guess. It had only been the work of a few moments to convince him to slip in too.

God, that old bath had been dreadful. Squint taps, peeling sealant, weird creaks, especially with two grown men in it...

Oh, that worrying crunch they'd heard, leaping out of the water, wide-eyed, cascading all over the floor, Thor making sure they hadn't had a complete plumbing disaster before scooping him into a towel and off to bed, seeing to him before he saw to them keeping their rental deposits, always looking out for him...

Less of the memories, Loki. Or less of those memories. More senses. How it had felt to be bracketed by Thor's legs, to feel a distinct hardness behind him, deliberately teasing with little sighs and movements until Thor had snapped and pulled him close, kissing his neck and reaching round his body.

"I know what you want," he'd murmured, sending shivers lancing down Loki's spine.

Mm... Yeah, that was a good memory. He could work with that. It wasn't about Thor, it was just the sense of being the centre of someone's attention. It was something he craved, he couldn't deny that. It was mixed up in being a performer and maybe from his childhood if he dug a little, but he desperately wanted it.

And Thor was very good at focussing. When his mind was trained on you, you knew about it. It was like sitting in sunlight, warming and almost nurturing and Loki...

Loki really, really missed that feeling.

Ugh... He was stroking himself fairly quickly, physically aroused but mentally furious, but that was alright, this was just about making his body relax.

It took a lot longer than normal, but he eventually came harder that normal too, letting out a grunt of effort and breathing hard.

For a few minutes, he just lay still in the warmth, letting his heart rate return to normal, and then he stood and pulled the plug before using the shower to rinse off and wash his hair.

Perhaps there were a few specks of glitter clinging to his legs afterwards, but nothing too drastic. He wouldn't be billed by the hotel for trashing their bath.

It would come off in the bedsheets probably. He was just going to dry his hair and go to sleep. Couldn't think about your ex if you were sleeping, right? And then he'd be alert and fresh for the concert and could avoid the inevitable networking afterwards and be straight on the train in the morning to continue not thinking about Thor for the rest of his life.

He thought he heard a knock over the whir of the hairdryer, but there was no one there when he checked the peep hole. Must have just been someone dropping something in the room above.

His hair was dreadfully flyaway, full of static, but he'd sort that out later.

For the time being, it was ear plugs in, eye mask on, alarm set to vibrate under his pillow.

It still took a lot of breathing exercises to quiet his mind enough to actually sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

Chewing idly on a supermarket sandwich - the Christmas Feast, of course, turkey with pigs in blankets, cranberry sauce and shredded carrot in potato bread infused with Brussels sprouts - Thor tried to relax.

He'd tried knocking on Loki's door again, but there was still no answer. Perhaps he'd gone for a walk. A very long walk.

Thor didn't really get nervous before concerts anymore. Oh, sure, sometimes there were little butterflies in the pause between entering a concert hall and starting to play, especially when the conductor's hands rose in pure silence, but for the most part, this was his bread and butter. Do anything often enough and the fear faded.

Well, maybe not anything. He imagined doctors probably always felt a bit cautious before surgery. Or fire fighters for example, they probably felt scared sometimes.

But for the most part, he found nerves unhelpful. They made you make silly mistakes more often than they sharpened your mind.

As such, it felt very odd indeed to find himself with that strange heaviness in the pit of his stomach for a different reason. And he knew what it was. He was frightened of Loki's reaction.

He wasn't sure why. After all, if you looked at things rationally, he had nothing to lose. They didn't talk anymore, didn't contact one another ever, so if Loki rejected him, nothing in his life would change.

The idea he had of a reconciliation and a future together was just a dream. A potential.

A pretty nice potential, but all the same. Nothing more. He had to remember that.

He practised his chord hand patterns on the edge of the desk, as though the muscle memory wasn't well and truly cemented, and then figured he might as well try to sleep. TV on, as usual. He knew the light wasn't good for circadian rhythms, but he liked having background noise to drift off to.

Before he knew it, his phone was vibrating off the bedside table and he was waking up at a strange angle, half sprawled across the bed.

He'd meant to get into his pyjamas first, but somehow that had slipped his mind. It was fine though. Second quick shower just to freshen up a little, blow-dry his hair, iron his concert gear...

Over the years, he'd become quite the connoisseur of hotel irons and their boards. His preferred type was the one that folded out of the wall, but he could handle the small desktop ones too.

After some searching, he found it in a tiny cupboard by the door. At least there was one; sometimes you had to call down to reception for it and trying to share three irons between a whole orchestra was not fun. Especially if a bassoonist had taken one hostage for use only by the wind section.

He'd certainly had worse irons, though the steam function left a lot to be desired. And he'd learned long ago that you should test it on the cover first before putting it anywhere near a shirt. Burn marks were not a good look.

Getting dressed for a show was important. It was like putting on armour. And much as he'd make fun of Loki for it, the monochrome look was striking. With his hair tied back, maybe with a few loose tresses at the front, he found himself acceptable.

It was a long way from the old conservatoire outfit they used to have to wear. Navy blue polo shirts with black trousers - who'd ever thought that was a good idea?

Was that movement in the corridor?

Loki?

He rushed to the door, yanking it open. Nothing. Yet. Maybe if he tried knocking again, one last time, he'd get lucky.

No answer.

Shit. At this rate, he'd either missed him or...

Well, one of two things had happened. Either Loki had found the note and read it and was rejecting and avoiding him, or he hadn't found it yet and would stumble across it on his way to the venue.

Neither of these were particularly good.

And nor was the fact that he'd just definitely locked his freshly shined concert shoes in his room by mistake.


	18. Chapter 18

Well, they scrubbed up well, Loki had to admit as he handed Clint his coat to be put safely in the dressing room and made his way to the front of the queue of musicians. All in black, relaxed but neat.

He found the lead violinist whispering with her friends, a keen young lady. He'd felt her eyes on him constantly throughout rehearsals, like being watched by an owl. It was almost like she didn't need to read the notes.

The effect was only going to be enhanced by her eyeliner.

"Right," he said. "Come with me. We're going out last and second to last. Everyone else goes, then you go out and bow, then I will follow."

"I know," she said. "I've done this before."

Ah, to be young and confident.

It was only when he was back behind the percussionists that he realised something was wrong. Something was missing.

Or rather someone.

Thor was missing at three minutes before they were due on. The baroque trio were practically finished with their forgotten traditional Christmas songs.

No, no, no... This was not happening.

He breathed something of a sigh of relief when the double doors behind them burst open, Thor practically running through the corridor, pausing when he caught sight of him, jaw dropping.

"Loki..." he said.

"Yes, I know," Loki said, gesturing to his emerald green pocket square. "Colour."

In the auditorium, polite applause was ringing out, the three chairs being removed, a general shuffling of musicians getting ready to go out and take their places.

"I need to talk to you," Thor said. "I got locked out, had to go to reception and... Long story, but anyway, we need to talk."

Loki fumed internally. Here? Now?!

"Well, much like yourself, it's a bit late."

He didn't want to know what Thor had to say. It would just throw him for the concert, put him off. He could find out what it was afterwards, surely, if it was that important.

A faint slumping from Thor, his shoulders sagging.

"I see," he said, like he'd just been told Santa wasn't real. "OK."

What kind of a reaction was that? Didn't he know what time it was?

At least being angry would help with getting over these ridiculous resurgent emotions he was experiencing, Loki figured.

"Break a leg, everyone," he said vaguely, a theatre phrase, but it would do.

And off they went, trooping out, the bright faces of the students and the faintly bored alumni. They were such old hands at this. They loved it, of course. You had to love it to keep going. But it was a comfortable, steady love rather than the sharp passion of yesteryear for them.

"Can you lead the tuning?" he asked the first violinist.

"Of course. But what's going on with you and the hot percussion guy?"

Blushing was not something Loki was used to doing much, certainly not in front of someone who was practically an infant.

"I think you'll find that's none of your business," he said pointedly. "Go on."

She strode out confidently, taking a bow before signalling to the oboist to give everyone their note. Once they'd finished and she was seated, Loki adjusted the score under his arm, took a deep breath and started his own applause ripple.

The indignity of the conductor...

Still, he put on a smile and walked out, taking it all in. He'd wanted to be first violin all his life, but here he really was the centre of attention. All eyes on him.

He might dislike people a lot of the time, but he liked this. The warm lights, the sense of scale... There were worse jobs he could be doing.

Turning to the orchestra, he placed his score carefully on his stand, opened it to the first page and took up his baton while everyone waited with bated breath. He could take as long as he wanted.

But he wouldn't. Some of the flautists were practically vibrating, wanting to get going.

Right. Overture. Everyone alert?

Two, three...

Maybe Thor was right and there was a kind of magic here. He brought down his baton and music flowed out across the room.

You could feel it. The pulses as different instruments took up the tune or the counter melody. It wasn't a train really, more like some great creature and he was the brain trying to keep it all under control.

And they were pretty good, as orchestras went.

Loki lost himself in it a little, the ebb and flow, the rises and falls, the final chord of the first movement. Lovely.

He gave them a subtle nod. Nice work, everyone. Onto the next.

Was the march too fast? No, it was fine. There was always a temptation for musicians to speed up and rush these quicker pieces, but everyone was following the stick. Even the bloody percussion.

He risked a glance at Thor and found him engrossed, eyes skimming over his score, triangle in hand, hitting every beat perfectly.

Of course he was. It was what he did.

Sugar Plum next. Loki was slightly nervous about it, almost having to physically shake himself as Thor moved to the celeste.

This was it, wasn't it? This was the last time he'd ever hear Thor play this. All those months of him practising and humming it in the old flat and the last few days in rehearsals and this was it. The first and last time he'd hear it played in a concert situation by the person it was inexorably linked to in his mind and memory.

Deep breath. Right.

He waited for Thor to give a slight nod of readiness before turning the page in his music and motioning the first beats and...

And there was a piece of paper in his score that wasn't meant to be there...

And it started _Dear Loki._

And despite himself, despite professionalism and musicianship and the whole situation, Loki found himself reading something that definitely wasn't the Nutcracker Suite.


	19. Chapter 19

Plink plink, plink _plink,_ PLINK _PLINK,_ plink plink...

Thor picked out his first notes, forcing himself to be calm. It was just another show, that was all. His heart wasn't aching at all. He was fine.

The chords were second nature. He barely had to look at the music. Didn't have to think.

The way Loki had looked at him... So disappointed. And what he'd said. Did he mean it? Was it too late for them?

Maybe. Maybe he was right. It had been a long time ago and nostalgia was a deceiver. It made you think things had been better than they were. Maybe he was kidding himself completely if he thought they could ever work as a couple again.

It had been a nice fantasy while it lasted.

The clarinets played that falling pattern and he answered it with ringing twinkles as usual.

He'd tried. Whatever else happened, at least he could say that he had tried. He had opened the door and Loki had closed it and that was fine. That was his choice. And Thor would respect it.

His fingers danced over the keys, the real solo part, all alone in the silence of the hall, and then the rest of them would come back in...

Was that a slight hesitation from the wind?

For the first time since they started, Thor glanced up while moving his fingers to the higher register.

Loki was no longer conducting. His arm was limp by his side.

Was he alright?

Thor kept playing. They all kept playing. What else could you do? He'd played concerts where the conductor had fallen off the edge of their podium and you just kept going. If you heard a thump from the stage above your head, but no one told you to stop, you just kept going.

The show must go on, and all that.

Percussion was very good at keeping going. Beat by beat, bar by bar. He could hear the wind still. They were following him, the high notes easy to hear. It was fine, they were keeping together.

God only knew what the strings were doing, but he always kind of felt that way. Hopefully plucking or bowing or whatever when they were meant to and not panicking.

He forced himself to keep steady. No rushing and no slowing down either. He lead the slight crescendo towards the end, striking his final chord decisively and letting it ring out, hearing the answer from the rest of the musicians.

And breathe...

It was like a spell being broken. Loki blinked and startled, staring at him across the heads of the orchestra. Big eyes, lips slightly parted, blinking like he was confused.

There were faint murmurs from the audience. They were clearly perplexed a little by this turn of events. Concerned.

And then Loki cleared his throat, rolled his shoulders and turned several pages of the score all at once.

Right. Right, Trepak. Onwards.

"What was all that about?" Thor's page turner asked under cover of the loud opening notes as they headed for the cymbals and tambourine.

"What?"

"Laufeyson. He went into a trance or something."

Thor pretended not to know, shrugging and crashing out the necessary beats on autopilot.

Loki hadn't found his note until he opened the score at Sugar Plum. It was exactly what Thor had feared - he'd disrupted the performance and Loki was no doubt furious with him for it.

A mistake, that was all! He wasn't supposed to not read it till now! He was meant to have found it hours ago!

All the same, as little twirls and trills bounced to the back of the concert hall, Thor couldn't quite quiet that little voice in his heart that said this meant there was hope still.

Until they spoke after the suite, there was still a chance that Loki would agree to try. There was still a potential. Schrodinger's relationship.

Why was this damn piece so fast? It was going to be over far too soon. He wanted to stay in this spot, this moment where anything was possible and nothing like real life was going to get in the way. If they could just loop a few times, that would be great.

He tried to judge Loki's reaction, but it was impossible. He was concentrating on the music, perhaps trying to make up for being missing in action a few moments ago, the baton flying wildly from downbeat to upbeat, jabbing out cues, his neatly slicked hair becoming just a little less perfect.

Yes. He was back into it. Thor had worked with dozens of conductors over the years, hundreds maybe, and the best ones seemed to live the music almost. It flowed through them.

There were few things worse than the whole thing being a clinical exercise. Yes, there was a lot of counting and technical knowledge involved in music, but it was meant to be creative too.

Loki had flow. No stiff, jerking motions but smooth swoops from one bar to the next, something of a half smile playing about his lips.

Was that a good sign for them?

Thor wasn't sure if he dared to hope.


	20. Chapter 20

Loki felt like he'd woken from a spell. True love's kiss in a chord.

His mind was spinning, notes and beats and marks all blending together with Thor's words, which seemed to have burned themselves into his mind as soon as he read them, that rounded handwriting that used to be everywhere in his life from shopping lists to notes on the calendar.

 _Dear Loki,_ it had begun.

_I understand entirely if you decide you don't want to read this, but I felt the best way of trying to express myself would be writing it down. You know me and talking - sometimes I word things in ways I don't mean._

_I know things ended badly between us and I know we hurt each other a lot, but there were circumstances outwith our control which exacerbated things and caused miscommunications between us._

_The truth is that I never really got over you. It takes a lot for me to admit that, but it's true. You've always been in my heart, all this time._

_Over the last few days, I've been thinking a lot about the past. Maybe you have too. I expect so. And maybe you have, or haven't, reached the same conclusion as me - that while we made mistakes, perhaps it wouldn't necessarily be a bad idea to try again. You and me._

_I am shuffling around what I really mean and I know you hate that. What I mean to say is that I would love to give our relationship another chance._

_No one knows me like you do, even now, and certainly no one knows our past like we do. But we're older now and perhaps a little wiser._

_If you don't feel the same, I fully respect your decision and I hope we can remain friends. But I truly believe it would take very little for me to fall in love with you all over again. Your vibrancy, your intelligence, your passion. And I would be honoured if you would give me that chance._

_With hope,_

_Thor_

The shimmering notes of the Arabian Dance flowed around his poor stunned brain, his hands moving more from habit than control. How was he supposed to react to a letter like that?

Honoured to have a chance with him? What year was this, 1800?

And on the other hand, how dare Thor be the one acting like he was the poor choice in this pairing, when Loki was irrational and vindictive and all the rest of it? Yes, Thor had faults, but they tended to be things like hiding his feelings in an attempt to prevent them affecting other people until they completely overboiled.

But he wasn't hiding his feelings here.

Now the ball was very much in Loki's court to decide whether or not he wanted to take up this offer.

He did want to. Very much. But a small part of him remembered the pain of what happened last time and didn't want to even risk those feelings ever again...

So, what? Never risk the good times either? All those little moments of sweetness and kindness, when they took care of each other as best they could? Who was looking after him now? Who was he looking after?

Wasn't that what a relationship was? An agreement to try to look out for one another, to be there? To face the world as a partnership?

And Thor was offering him that again and calling it a privilege...

It was hard not to be flattered.

And thinking this through would be much, much easier if he wasn't also having to conduct his way through another three movements of Tchaikovsky.

Before he even knew it, the Chinese Dance and the Reed Flutes were distant memories and he was counting out the three beats of his personal favourite, the Waltz of the Flowers. He might claim to hate Nutcracker, but there was no denying that this movement was a masterpiece.

The harp part was stunning for one thing. Old Pyotr was having a good day when he came up with that. But it was the whole thing, the romance and the drama of it.

There was something beautiful about a whole orchestra taking off together, all the bows of the strings moving together, the way it started so gently and built and built and built...

It felt almost natural, in a way. Like plants growing.

Like people growing too. Friendships, romances...

All building to those final moments where he held the music in his hand and then the triumphant bursts of those last few chords and then the sound died away into peace, his fingers closing as though snuffing a candle.

The applause registered slowly. Ah, yes. He had to turn and bow. Yes. And then invite all the soloists to stand and then the whole orchestra and then...

And then walk off the stage in a calm and dignified way.

Somehow he managed to avoid just sprinting to the back of the room where the percussionists were.


	21. Chapter 21

"What the hell happened to him in Sugar Plum?"

"What?" Thor asked, waiting for their turn to walk off the stage.

"The conductor. He went all... weird. He just stopped."

"Well... You know how conductors are. Sometimes they have a little moment. I once had a conductor skip a page by mistake gesturing furiously at us for being in the wrong place. They have a lot going on. It happens."

Surely that was suitably vague enough to pretend he had nothing to do with it.

Loki was waiting for him in the corridor where everyone else was making their way backstage to pack up.

And he didn't look terribly happy.

"You," he said, pointing an accusing finger right at Thor's face. "Practice room three. Now."

Thor could only gulp and follow him down the corridor, unsure what exactly was happening.

Probably about to be shouted at for putting his note in the score of all places.

The room was dark, Loki slapping his hand against the light switches, sending fluorescence flickering into life above them. Was that aggression? Frustration? Thor couldn't even tell. Could be either, or both maybe.

He almost held his breath as Loki rounded on him, his suit jacket flying out with the motion, a stern look on his face. Embarrassed by being blindsided, angry with Thor for doing that and no wonder.

"Did you mean it?"

That hadn't been at all what Thor expected him to say.

"What?" he asked, lost.

"Those things you wrote. Did you mean them? About wanting to try again?"

Floundering a little, in uncertain waters, Thor tried his best to show his sincerity.

"Yes. Of course. Otherwise I wouldn't have written them."

Loki turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose, sighing hard.

"I knew you were going to say that."

Thor watched him for a moment, seeing the tension in his shoulders, wondering if it meant he was tempted or horrified and eventually resolved to try to find out.

He moved to Loki's side, laying a hand gently on his shoulder, turning him until they were facing one another and leaning in. If Loki didn't want him to, he could expect to be pushed away. Or slapped, knowing Loki.

Neither happened. Instead Loki suddenly pulled him forwards by the shirt, sighing as he pressed their mouths together, hard and harsh at first before settling into something more comfortable and familar.

Oh, he had missed this... He'd had boyfriends in the interim, some he'd even loved, but none quite as much as the ridiculous feelings he had for Loki. Maybe it was true that you never forgot your first love. Or maybe it had just been _more_ somehow with him.

He'd never really gotten over Loki at all. Not really. And he'd been lying to himself when he pretended he had. Unconsciously, he'd compared every romantic interest to Loki, which had been wildly unfair. No one could compete.

He let himself fall into it, the passion, the rush, his arms wrapping around Loki's back, hands on him, feeling the way he moved, leaning into the contact, back in Thor's embrace almost like he'd never left.

But, of course, they couldn't pretend forever. Loki broke the kiss, gazing at him like he couldn't believe what was happening, couldn't believe they were doing this.

"We..." he began and then cleared his throat. "We should talk about this before anything... happens."

Thor blinked at him, playing dumb.

"What do you think's going to happen?" he asked.

And now Loki was blinking back at him, so sure of his own allure - rightly so, but that wasn't the point.

"Well, I thought... Since we're both clearly still attracted to one another and there's nothing to stop us..."

"Don't worry. I'm teasing."

The look of confusion soon changed to exasperation.

"I think you'll find that's my job," Loki said, not trying to flirt but not needing to. "But I'm serious. We can't just jump in feet first. Not yet. We need to know that we're on the same page. And in the same bar on that page. And on the same beat of that bar."

Music terms. Of course.

"I want to try having a relationship," Thor said. "I know I travel a lot, but so do you. We understand how things are in this field, what the commitments are. So if you could forgive me being a little unreliable, when I'm able and you're able, I'd love to... You know. Have good times together. Hang out. Go out. Spend time in each other's company, have someone to talk to about anything and everything, look after each other. That's the beat I'm on. You should tell me if I'm going too fast."

A little sigh, maybe of relief.

"I thought for a moment you wanted to move in, like the old days. I'm not ready for that."

"No, me neither."

"But you're ready for... intimacy?"

"Only if you are."

Was Loki Laufeyson _blushing?_ No. He couldn't be. A trick of the light, that was all. There was no way that the endlessly confident Loki could be blushing at such a vague invitation.

"Well, I maintain we won't be able to agree anything with all this tension in the air. We should go back to the hotel and... talk some more."

There clearly wasn't going to be much talking going on for a little while. Thor grinned, pulling Loki close for another quick kiss before they made their way towards jackets. Just in case minds were changed on the way.

He felt giddy. He'd been worrying so much about rejection and loss that he almost hadn't considered what would happen if Loki said yes. He found himself continually looking at him, smiling, a strange part of him wanting to run cheering into the street, to tell complete strangers that a miracle had happened.

They managed to avoid most of the musicians - already in the pub probably, most of them - but they couldn't avoid Clint's knowing gaze or his emphatic signing once he'd handed Loki his coat.

"What's he saying?" Thor asked.

"Finally," Loki translated simply. "Or at least, that's the gist of it."


	22. Chapter 22

Loki shivered as they stepped into the outside world, and not just from the cold. What was this feeling in his chest? Excitement? Nerves? Both?

Probably both.

This felt like a dream, or at least it would have done if it hadn't also started as inconveniently as possible.

"Why did you put it in the score of all places?" he asked, remembering that he was a little bit cross. "You're lucky we finished the show at all after that."

"I thought you'd find it there sooner! I didn't know you'd only open that page during the performance. I figured... I don't know, that you'd want to give it one last look beforehand. I'm sorry."

"Made me look like I'd lost myself."

"At least I kept going?"

Yes, he had. Dependable, that's what Thor was. It felt like when the rest of the world was falling down, Thor would still be there, hitting his drums exactly in time.

And caring.

"Yeah, you did. At least we didn't make complete fools of ourselves. We'll still get paid. That's the only reason I came to this thing in the first place."

"No love for your old school?"

"Well..."

He'd shut that part of himself away. Tried to bury it and forget about it. All the heartache he'd felt, all the sadness. But that had meant burying the happiness too. Not just Thor, but all the tutors who'd helped him, all those people who had given him the skills to make it to where he was, teaching him about harmonies and other instruments, giving him the tools to compose. He owed the conservatoire a lot, really.

"Maybe a little," he admitted. "But mostly it was the money. I got tired of being a starving artist a long time ago."

About two thirds of the way to the hotel, Thor took Loki's gloved hand in his. And Loki didn't try to pull away, even though he blushed a little bit. People could see! They'd know.

They'd think they were having a romantic festive season. Happy and in love and all that. And while he wouldn't go that far, not yet, not until they gave things a try and figured out if it was actually going to work or not, he definitely had a fondness, once locked away but starting to sprout and blossom again.

At least he could pretend his pink cheeks were just from the cold, the frost already blooming over windows, their breath clouds mingling above their heads.

"So, uh..." Thor said. "Your room or mine?"

Loki couldn't help snorting.

"Yours, I think," he said. "I'd hate for us to be interrupted by students looking to dissect the concert."

And it meant he could decide when to leave, whether to leave, not have to throw Thor out in the morning.

Wow, the morning. He was expecting this to go well, wasn't he?

And there were those nerves again, cooling his passion, making him worry, even while Thor opened the door for him and carefully hung their coats on the back of the door.

"Tea?" he asked. "Coffee? I'd offer something stronger, but you know what minibar prices are like."

"Uh... Tea, please."

Awkward. And it shouldn't be. They'd been through enough together. It shouldn't be difficult.

 _You always loved the way Thor made tea,_ a quiet voice at the back of his head said. And that was true. He wasn't sure what it was, but Thor had a knack for it - never too strong or too weak.

Maybe it had just been affection. Still, he'd blame this less good effort on hotel tea bags and UHT milk.

He slowly became aware that Thor was looking at him, steady and calm.

"What?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing. Just admiring you."

Ah. Always a charmer.

"Anything in particular?"

Thor chuckled, shaking his head gently, probably remembering how much Loki liked being paid attention to.

"It's a good outfit," he said. "I'm amazed anyone can pay attention to their music with you looking like that. Did you have it tailored?"

"Obviously. Got to do these things properly, you know."

A little nod.

"I like your hair. It looks good long. The way it frames your face... So striking."

"And full of hairspray."

Almost asking permission, Thor reached for him, running his fingers against his scalp, gentle and soft, smiling slightly at the crackling sound as the lacquer shattered at his touch.

"You should let me soften it up," he murmured.

"I don't think there's any 'letting' about it. I want you to."

Thor's smile grew wider, putting his cup down and using both hands, running them gently through Loki's hair, massaging him almost, helping the tension melt away before steering him into more kisses. Leisurely ones. They had time, after all. No interruptions here.

Somewhere along the way, Loki walked him backwards, making him sit on the desk, handing his cup over to him and then starting to drop to his knees.

"Sure?" Thor asked as he reached for his fly.

"Mmm..."

He preferred things this way round, where he came last and could lounge in the warmth afterwards. No having to rouse himself to finish anything.

It was a little bit selfish maybe, but he felt it evened out.

He could feel Thor hardening beneath his touch so easily, feeling a little frisson of pride that he still had such an effect, tugging at his trousers to get them fully off so he could...

Wait.

What the...?

"Thor," he said very carefully. "What the hell are these?"

He looked up to find Thor blinking down at him, pink cheeked and slow with want, swallowing.

"Well," he said. "It is Christmas. When else are reindeer print boxers appropriate?"

Oh, he was lucky he was hot. And kind. And sweet.

"Literally never," Loki replied. "Take them off. Right now."

"Whatever you say, Mr Conductor."

Mm. He could get used to that.


	23. Chapter 23

Thor hadn't even remembered packing this particular pair of underwear, let alone putting them on, all little red dots with antlers behind them. Festive but at least subtly so.

At least they weren't the snowman ones, he figured, scooting his hips upwards to yank them off. The carrot nose was in a rather unfortunate place...

It had been a long, long time since he'd been in this position, having his legs pushed apart for a handsome man to crawl between, his cock jutting forward and practically bobbing with excitement when Loki laid a hand on it.

"Some things never change," he murmured, cutting off any reply Thor might have tried to garble out by laying a kiss on the side of it, gentle but firm as well.

Ooh... OK, that was somehow even better than he remembered it being. And he remembered it being pretty spectacular.

Loki hummed, sending another jolt through him, taking Thor's hands from where they were gripping the desk and planting them firmly in his hair. Ah, yes. OK.

Tentatively at first, Thor began running his fingers through those black tresses, careful to avoid tangles and paying particular attention to the roots, to skin, to gentle rubbing the way he liked.

He used to spend hours playing with Loki's hair.

All the same, he couldn't help the way his fingers tightened as Loki started to bob his head, getting into a steady rhythm. Thor's breath was coming in sharp gasps, staring down at him, almost shaken, stroking the bit of Loki's head where he'd accidentally tugged in what was hopefully a soothing way.

If only it had been so easy to soothe other things, years ago.

No, no. Stay in the moment. The moment where the love of his life - and if he was being really honest, that was what Loki was - was kneeling on a cheap hotel floor making him feel good and in just a few minutes, he'd get a chance to make him feel good in return.

In less than a few minutes if it kept feeling like this. Loki was doing something very interesting with his tongue, creating different sensations, a sort of rippling almost, and then sustained pressure.

"God," Thor managed.

"Hm?"

"You're way too good at this."

Loki chuckled, raising his eyebrows in challenge. It was ever thus, Thor figured. Loki had always been instinctive and skilled where Thor let enthusiasm carry him.

Their musical careers had been much the same, to begin with. Thor had let natural rhythm and keenness carry him a long way before getting into the necessary knitty-gritty of technique and theory.

Speaking of which, it felt like Loki had been reading some kind of book on how to turn anyone to your will using only your mouth. Thor could feel himself starting to rock forward, not even meaning to, just helpless...

The desk gave a decidedly worrying creak, enough to make them both suddenly look a little concerned, Loki pulling back a few centimetres.

"Should we...?" he asked.

"Bed?" Thor asked at exactly the same time.

Loki smiled at him, getting to his feet and beginning to finally get undressed. Slowly. Very slowly.

"Just on the edge," he said, standing in front of the hanging rail. "It's a good angle."

Thor gave the desk a cursory check to ensure it hadn't too obviously had a large man sitting on it, and then let his eyes spring to where Loki was unbuttoning his shirt with his back turned, clearly deliberately so, giving Thor a good, long look at his skin, the curve of his shoulders and arms, lean but muscular with it, the contrast between his complexion and his remaining clothes.

There was absolutely no need for anyone to bend over like that just to take off their trousers, but Thor was not complaining. Quite the opposite, in fact. He groaned openly, palming his cock when Loki turned round, smiling just a little smugly.

He looked so good. So well. And this wasn't an accidental glance, a stolen glimpse. He was allowed to look.

Allowed to touch.

"Come here," he breathed, welcoming Loki into his arms, kissing him again, chasing his lips when he pulled away.

"I was in the middle of something..."

And Thor was close despite the pause. And Loki was very good at this...

He tried to warn before he came in Loki's mouth, but didn't really manage it. Not that Loki seemed to mind, evidently very pleased with himself as he slid back up Thor's body and let him taste himself on his tongue, laughing as he flopped backwards to drag them both onto the bed.

Thor wanted to stay like this a while, just kissing and holding, but he could feel Loki's hardness against his thigh and elected not to make him wait any longer.

"Right," he murmured, his voice still thick with desire. "Lie back and get comfortable."

"Planning on taking your time?" Loki asked.

"Well, you are always telling me not to rush."

For a moment, he simply admired; the plains of Loki's flesh, the pink of his nipples, the darkness of his body hair and the way his breath was quick even as he tried to act like he wasn't so affected as all that.

And then he leant forward to get started.


	24. Chapter 24

Loki's head hit the pillow hard. He'd been teasing himself, not allowing himself any sensation while his body got hotter and hotter, thrilled by the effect he was having on Thor, and now everything was...

Ooh...

Thor hadn't been talking idly when he said he'd be going slowly. He was gently running his tongue from the base of Loki's cock all the way along, sometimes softly but sometimes using the tip, giving a firmer feel.

Oh, this was the sweetest torture...

The pillow smelled of Thor when he writhed against it, that outdoorsy scent blended with the hotel shampoo, endlessly familiar.

Smelling of home.

"Please," he mumbled. "Come on, I need..."

"I know," Thor said. "I just wanted this to last as long as possible."

"Easy for you to say..."

Thor laughed, that deep rumble of amusement, before planting himself more firmly on the mattress and leaning down properly.

Loki gasped and grabbed at the duvet, arching his back in an effort not to thrust upwards into Thor's mouth. It had been so long, both in general and since he'd been able to properly relax into it. This was Thor. Thor who knew him better than anyone, who'd seen him at his worst and his least rational and yet still wanted him in his bed.

Wanted him in his life, for that matter.

Thor let out an appreciative noise, squeezing his hips as he moved in long, powerful sucks, the kind that made Loki feel almost weak with pleasure, barely able to keep his eyes open long enough to gaze down, to see Thor's smiling eyes, clearly so happy about making him feel like this.

Because, despite it all, he cared.

Well, how was Loki supposed to resist that?

He came sooner than he would have liked, too excited, too overwhelmed, hardly able to open his arms afterwards for Thor to crawl up his body and flop next to him.

For a while, they just lay like that, kissing and touching, exploring all those old places on each other's body they used to know so well.

"Do you want a t-shirt to sleep in?" Thor asked.

"Well, I don't want to move..." Loki said, pouting a little.

It was nice to see Thor heading to his luggage, nude and completely at ease, still as muscular as always, if a little softer than he was all those years ago. Comfortable, that was the word.

How long had it been since he last got to wear one of Thor's things? Soft from dozens of washes, oversized.

"So, what now?" Thor said as Loki took his old place in his arms, snuggling into the warmth.

"Well, I need to recover a little, Mr Stamina."

Thor laughed, kissing the top his head.

"I meant for us. You and me."

Loki knew exactly what he was getting at, but he wanted to pretend he wasn't nervous about the future stretching off in front of them. He found Thor's hand under the blankets, linking their fingers together.

"Well, I think we should go to sleep. And then tomorrow we should have an enormous complementary breakfast and compare calenders. See when we can next get together, swap numbers and so on."

He could tell Thor was wanting more on the emotional side of things. The stuff Loki always felt was best unsaid.

"So are we... boyfriends?" Thor asked uncertainly.

"Please, we're not children. But really, I don't know what we are. We're us, I suppose."

A pause and then Thor took a few attempts to find which light switch would turn everything off.

"Alright," he said. "Alright, I won't try to pin you down with specifics. We'll meet when we can. Talk the rest of the time. Get to know each other again properly."

The idea of falling in love again hung in the air, unspoken but evident.

"Yeah," Loki said, getting comfortable in a familiar position, feeling warm and safe. "We'll play it by ear."


	25. A Year (and a few days) Later

Loki woke alone. And a little achey...

Mm. Good achey though.

The previous night swam quickly back into his memory. There had been cuddling and laughing and too much food and just a little too much mulled wine. Perfect really. They'd watched Carols From Kings and Thor had sung along and mumbled along when he didn't know the words. He wasn't the best singer in the world, but Loki liked his voice all the same.

And then Loki had thoroughly distracted him and they ended up going to bed slightly early to, ahem, keep warm...

So where was Thor now?

Loki rolled himself into a blanket cocoon and managed to catch sight of Thor, standing by the window.

He tried to ask what he was doing, but it came out as a questioning mumble.

Thor smiled at him, serene, his hair all mussed from sleep and pre-sleep activities.

"It's snowing," he whispered.

Loki groaned a little.

"Proper snowing?"

"Not like we'll be snowed in or anything, but your garden's covered. More than an icing sugar dusting, less than an avalanche. But it's lying."

Ah, the magic words of the British winter... Snow falling was one thing; snow lying was quite another.

"Do you want tea? Coffee?"

"Hot chocolate."

A little chuckle and Thor kissed his forehead - almost the only part of him sticking out of the covers - and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

He was so at home in Loki's place. And that was good, he liked that, even if Thor's first reaction to being driven up from the bus station was 'Wow, you have an actual house.'

It did feel worryingly grown-up to have used his inheritance from his father to put down a deposit on a secluded cottage in the middle of nowhere, cheaper than average but still tying him into a mortgage for the rest of his life. It had been nice to impress, though.

And he'd been to Thor's place too. Once. But, well, it was more convenient for Thor to come to him than for him to be away from his work for any length of time.

Besides, he hadn't liked it. That strange, sterile rented space, no personality, Thor's pictures leaning against the walls because he wasn't allowed to put up hooks to hang them...

And the less said about that bathroom, the better.

He could hear Thor singing again. Let It Snow. And Loki lay warm and safe in bed, only bothering to sit up when he heard careful footsteps on the stairs.

When had he last had such a good Christmas? Too long, really. He wasn't religious in any way, even if conducting oratorios and other churchy things made up quite a lot of his income, and he didn't really get the secular side of it either. The only reason he had any decorations up was Clint's doing, insisting he couldn't possibly work in an un-festive environment.

Maybe he secretly kind of liked the miniature potted tree in the hall. The small LED lights were much better than those strings of light bulbs he remembered from childhood that needed to be checked individually. And the smell... The smell was good...

He drew the line at tinsel, though.

Thor appeared with a tray, very carefully lowering it.

"I couldn't find marshmallows or whipped cream," he said. "But I put a bit of cinnamon on the top."

It was hot and sweet, that was the main thing.

And since it was Christmas morning...

"I know we said no presents," Loki said before Thor got in next to him. "But I did get you something."

Thor's eyebrows had shot up.

"It's not wrapped or anything. It's just a small thing."

He'd put it in his bedside table, hidden, just in case he changed his mind. Not that he really expected to.

Thor stared at the little piece of metal in Loki's hand before shyly picking it up.

"It's a key," he said.

"Do you want to move in?" Loki blurted, and then keeping talking before Thor had a chance to reply. "I mean, maybe not right now, but it's not like you have a lot of stuff and it's ridiculous for you to pay rent on a place to keep it in when I could hang on to it for you. And besides, it would... maybe feel more like home. More like you could put down roots."

Thor had an expression that he couldn't read. Lips pressed together, blinking fast. Upset? That wasn't right.

Or were these happy tears he was trying to keep back?

"I..." he coughed. "I didn't expect this."

"You don't have to. It was just an idea."

"No, no. No, I want to. This year, even when we've been miles apart, it's been... great, really. I mean, I'll have to give my landlord notice and organise a van, but... Yes."

Loki felt something leave him, some tension he'd been carrying.

"I figured since we'd managed to make it work semi-long distance, we should... You know... Give it a shot semi-not long distance."

Thor was smiling, overwhelmed maybe.

"I'm going to nip downstairs and put this on my keyring," he said. "And I actually got you something as well."

"We said no presents!"

"Yes, sweetheart, but I've met you before."

Grumbling a little into his mug, Loki pretended not to be practically dancing with joy. Thor had agreed! He'd be making this house his home, this bed his bed. No more going back to an empty flat that didn't even feel like it was his.

And on Loki's side, no more waiting anxiously for him to let him know he'd got home safely. He'd just hear the door open. Or just feel a kiss against his cheek.

"Don't worry," Thor said in the doorway. "It's just a small thing too. And it's... Well, you'll see."

It was a box. A jewellery box. And for a moment, Loki's blood ran cold, running his fingers under the sellotape. Surely Thor wasn't proposing? Yes, he was happy, they both were, but he wasn't ready for that.

Oh, thank God, cuff links. Loki's smile was maybe equally relief as happiness.

"I figured since your conductor's outfit is fancy, you might like something fancier than buttons..." Thor said.

A little gold treble clef and a little gold bass clef. They'd probably had a sign in the shop, 'the perfect gift for a musician!' Even still, you usually couldn't find bass clefs on anything. The full span of music, from the highest notes to the lowest, symbolised on his wrists as he moved them, held between his hands.

The little treble would sit just below his scar - a reminder that he could still create what he loved, even if it was in an unexpected way.

"Thank you," he said, the words not enough to express what he was feeling. "They're lovely."

They twinkled at him as Thor finally got into bed, slightly chilled from being up.

"So, what's the plan for today?" he asked.

"Well..." Loki said. "I intend to be extremely lazy. I have no intention of making a turkey, but there's normal food, so we can eat at some point. We should just watch the snow and keep warm."

"Could take the duvet down to the couch."

"Mm. Perfect for afternoon naps. Relaxed, lazy Christmas."

"Sounds good to me."

"And, er... Don't be cross, but I might need to do the tiniest bit of work at some point. Just quickly. Barely anything really... It's just the current piece I'm writing."

"Not behaving itself?" Thor asked.

"I think I've suddenly realised what it's missing."

"Yeah? What?"

Loki finished his drink and shuffled back under the covers, properly warm and comfortable and safe, cuddling close to the man he loved and thought he lost.

"It needs a celeste part."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays, everyone.


End file.
